


The Sword and The Hourglass

by SilverGlass83



Series: Time of The Hourglass [2]
Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Character POV Alternating, Childhood Memories, Domestic Disputes, Don't copy to another site, Drama & Romance, Dungeons & Dragons References, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Family Issues, Family Reunion Slow Burn, Fantasy, Forgiveness, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Redemption, Sexual Content, Smut, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 159,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverGlass83/pseuds/SilverGlass83
Summary: Caramon Majere has gotten on with his life.He is now a husband, a father, and the proprietor of the Inn of the Last Home in Solace.But try as he might, he cannot escape the void left behind by his twin.Conversely, Raistlin Majere has now freed himself of the Archlich Fistandantilus.But in that void left behind, he now faces a new challenge: that of self-identity.In Solace, Caramon struggles with hidden vices while maintaining the facade his friends and family expect of him.In Palanthas, Raistlin struggles to remember who he once was before his Test as he adjusts to this new life with his Star beside him.Memories and lost friendships burn like dying embers in the hearts and minds of these two men.The past is painful and bitter, but the ashes of their lost kinship may hold the key for the twins to reclaim what they each seek for themselves.
Relationships: Caramon Majere/Tika Waylan Majere, Raistlin Majere/Original Character(s)
Series: Time of The Hourglass [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511231
Comments: 123
Kudos: 43





	1. The Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I do not own any of the characters or settings within this Dragonlance universe that have been created by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman and owned by Wizards of the Coast in general.  
> This is a fan fiction only, I do not make any profit from my story telling.  
> I do, however, consider Yurielle and any other original character creations of my own. The same goes for any artwork that I have made and shared within these chapters. Please do not reuse any of them without my permission. (With the exception of the collages as I don't own the images anyway)  
> Same note from Part 1 applies here in regards to any fanart and music that I may share in this story.  
> As before, there will be sex, violence and adult themes herein but I will continue to do my best and put any potential trigger warnings before the involved chapter.  
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy Part 2 of this series!

A soul split into two bodies – that is what some say twins are.

It is true that the gods are cruel in their dealings with mortals, but even they, in their infinite wisdom, would not be so cruel as to sunder a soul on purpose and force it to exist in two places at once.

That fate, it seems, is up to the soul itself.

Or at least it is what the gods allow in order to maintain the delicate balance of all that is and its continual, universal growth.

Proof of this can be seen in the case of Fistandantilus and Raistlin Majere.

Two souls that were once one - now separate - both on a path towards something far greater than the journey an average soul would undertake or ever experience.

In his youth the Archmage Raistlin Majere had always innately known that his soul was special. He had always sensed that he was bound to another.

How wrong he had been in regards to what this truly entailed.

A soul split into two bodies – one the mind (himself) the other the strength – that is what Raistlin Majere had always thought. However, he had been mistaken to think the bond he felt was for that of his flesh and blood twin: that of Caramon Majere.

In reality Raistlin's soul was far different and far more ancient than most and in the early spring of 359 A.C. Raistlin Majere learned the truth about who he was. He learned the truth of his soul and of his connection to the being known to history as Fistandantilus.

Despite this, he had yet to come to understand what this meant.

Now the Archmage finds himself separated from the Archlich – that other, true half of his soul – and after a decade of shared existence, Raistlin Majere struggles to grasp his own fragile identity.

Kintsugi is an ancient elvish term for fixing cracks in delicate things using gold...

In the example of Raistlin Majere, is it any wonder that a soul so desperate to escape its dark half would encase itself thus?

With that said I will now start this next volume in the series detailing the Time of the Hourglass. Here I will pen the tale of the bonds of blood, of flesh and bone, of tears shed, and of the connections that Raistlin Majere made to those around him during the days of his youth.

And most importantly of the link he formed with another while still in the womb.

What happens to others when those connections are inevitably severed?

What is the soul's purpose then when the bonds we once formed are broken?

Can any amount of gold fill the cracks of individuality and the delicate sense of self?

Caramon Majere – the body without a mind – has continued his life bereft of his twin and has fallen victim to his own vices.

Raistlin Majere – the mind without a body – has found his light in the darkness, but now he realizes that this light has only exposed the cracks in the Hourglass.

Separated now not only by distance, but also their differences that are as far apart as the sun is from the moons, both men find that they have lost their meaning without the other.

Here begins the story of twins, of brothers, of two souls in two separate bodies...

Of destiny's weave and of the impact of others on a soul's long journey.

And here is the lesson that sometimes, no amount of gold can fix things, for some past hurts are the hardest to heal.

~Astinus, Historian of the Great Library of Palanthas

Year 430 A.C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is hanging in there and that you are excited to continue the journey with me!  
> A few notes -  
> I will do my best to keep posts fairly weekly (later in the week probably)  
> I will confess that doing weekly on the same day for Part 1 caused me some stress and anxiety trying stick to it... so this time around it may not be exactly on the dot every week. But it will be close. Just give me a few days to polish the chapter and it will arrive in a *mostly* timely manner.  
> Also, Kintsugi is a real Japanese art for fixing broken things with gold. It's fascinating and beautiful and, to me at least, exactly describes Raistlin! I hope you'll enjoy where I'm going with this idea!  
> If you haven't seen - I have been re-editing Part 1 as well as created a ton of collages and added those to many chapters. OH AND FAN ART! So those are sprinkled through Part 1's chapters like a fun little scavenger hunt for you :)  
> I missed you all and I hope you enjoy Part 2 of this wild redemption train we're on!  
> As always, thank you for reading <3  
> OH and I added my e-mail and discord ID to my profile so people can reach me easier!


	2. Of Blood and Memories

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ship listed dangerously, spilling blood-red water over its decks, soaking everyone to the bone as they desperately tried to hold on. The crew ran frantically to and fro in a hopeless attempt to change their course.

But it was too late.

Death had a hold of them and there was nothing to be done except to wait and embrace it.

Like a bird with clipped wings, the _Perechon_ hurtled forward through the maelstrom, caught in its inescapable grip. The Blood Sea of Istar around them began to flatten, the force of the massive whirlpool pulling the water to a smooth, glass-like mirror the closer and closer they sailed towards the center of the vortex.

He caught a glimpse of it, the large hole in the world that seemed to pull all of nature into it as the clouds themselves swirled above it, gaping like a mouth eager to destroy the tiny vessel. The man could only stand and stare blankly as realization sank in that there was nothing he could do to save himself or any of those around him.

A mouth above and a mouth below, both were swirling holes of emptiness which would soon devour them.

At least their deaths would be quick. At least that would be some small mercy.

Tearing his eyes from the all-consuming blackness, he scanned the deck of the ship once more. He entered this world with another and so to, would he leave with him.

“Tanis! Where's Raistlin?!” Caramon cried above the roar of water and wind, but his voice was stolen by the endless, yawning maws.

The spinning water was indeed like a mirror, for when Caramon looked into its surface to find his twin all that was reflected back to him was the empty void left behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was below deck now; in the dark, cold belly of the dying beast. A small, silver dagger was raised before him, its tip pointed right at his heart.

“Tell him, my brother,” his twin hissed as the swirling light from the dragon orb glinted off his face, danced wickedly in those cursed eyes. “Tell Tanis what I am capable of doing. You remember. So do I,” he said in that soft, unnerving way that he spoke. “It is in our thoughts every time that we look at one another, isn't it, my dear brother?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The water was suddenly black and inky as it swirled around his boots. Tiny, razor sharp teeth bit at him with every step, drawing blood and adding to his already numerous wounds. He was weak and injured, but Caramon kept plodding onward through the darkness.

Deeper into the bowels of the cursed Temple of Neraka he descended until it felt as though he were in the depths of hell itself.

He was lost, bereft, and seemingly alone.

Suddenly, the never-ending darkness was shattered when a soft voice whispered, “Shirak.”

Caramon's heart nearly stopped beating. Slowly, with all the will he had left in his broken body, he looked into the bright light and saw two golden, glittering, hourglass eyes staring at him from within an even darker black hood.

His brother, his twin, his flesh and blood, stood before him. Alive and well, Raistlin was to be the final obstacle for Caramon before he could see the end of this wretched war.

So be it.

His other half stood there in the dark shadow of his robes. Robes that now plainly declared the mage's allegiance to the world. Everyone else had said this would happen, that Raistlin would choose this path, but Caramon had refused to see it, he had refused to accept that his twin was so lost as this.

Even now with the evidence right in front of him all the big warrior would see of his twin was that weak, sickly boy he always protected. Caramon could still only see the frail man that he had - countless times - carried to his bed due to sickness. The gaunt face, now gold but not always that way, that he had stared at while in sleep and wondered what he would do if Raistlin would die...

Caramon knew now that what had happened was far, far worse than losing his twin to death's final grip. Death he could have accepted - eventually.

Not the betrayal.

Not the abandonment.

This was not his brother standing before him....

It couldn't be!

But try as he might, Caramon's heart was finally coming to understand what his mind had been telling him for a long time.

Raistlin was evil. Raistlin was lost.

But still he saw that fragile boy...

How many times had Caramon helped feed Raistlin, helped dress him, when he was too ill to do so? How many times had Caramon prepared his twins tea when that cough was tearing Raistlin's lungs apart? How many times did they stay up together in the dark chill of the night huddled back to back keeping watch and protecting one another? How many times in their childhood did Raistlin wake, scared and terrified by the things in his mind?

All Caramon could do in those times to coax a smile to his brother's face was make shadow animals on the wall for him...

Raistlin had never thanked him, but Caramon needed none. He existed for this purpose; he was strong so that Raistlin didn't need to be.

He was strong so Raistlin didn't _have_ to be.

With this thought the man stared into those eyes that glittered like cold points of light within the empty void he had left behind.

Caramon saw then that his brother was in some ways far, far stronger than he.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Don't do it, my brother,” Raistlin warned softly as the ship listed again. Blood-red water poured in through the small window within the cabin. The sticky water - now very much resembling blood - swirled around their ankles, filling the air with the smell of iron and flesh. “Come no closer.”

The thin blade gleamed sickly green in the light of the dragon orb and edged even closer to his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kill me, Raistlin,” Caramon said, his pain and blood-loss overwhelming him. “Don't leave me to die at their hands.” His eyes went into the darkness where the sounds of pursuit could be heard. The draconians were not far away now. It was only a matter of time before he was captured and taken above to the Dark Queen for sacrifice or worse. “End it for me quickly,” he pleaded, finally understanding that everyone had been right about this doomed bond he had with this twin. He had given everything of himself and now, in this moment, there was only one thing he wanted in return for his years of thankless loyalty. “You owe me that much.”

“OWE YOU!” Raistlin hissed in anger. “OWE YOU!” he repeated, his golden face pale in the light of his Staff. The darkness swirled around them, the black water crashed down as Raistlin called forth lightning beneath the Temple and destroyed the creatures in a terrifying demonstration of immense magic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Caramon, go ahead!” Tanis commanded him. “He won't hurt you!”

Caramon stared into his twin's eyes, ones that had been forever changed by magic that his simple mind had no way to comprehend. The eyes of his twin were cold, cruel; the hourglass pupils dilated. The thin face, so like Caramon's own yet so different, was hardened into a golden mask of defiance; twisted and emotionless. Both the golden eyes and skin flickered dangerously in the swirling green light of the dragon orb. The shadows that played across Raistlin's face made his features shift so that, for a heartbeat, someone else stared back at Caramon.

The illusion faded.

“I assure you, I am capable of this. I killed him once,” Raistlin said calmly to both Caramon and the half-elf. “I can do it again...”

~~~~~~~~

He was in a dark room, watching as his twin - the sickly, fragile man he would bleed every last ounce of blood for - stood before an image of himself. Caramon watched as his dear brother, injured and near death himself, raised his hands and pointed at him - at the magical image - and cried, “I HAVE NO BROTHER!”

Lightning erupted from those fingertips in a display of power that Caramon had never thought possible of his delicate twin.

And he watched, horrified, as the brother he loved, murdered him.

~~~~~

Great wings blotted out the light of the stars and moons. The thin membrane flashed green as the beams struggled through the dragons' wing. The beast landed and Caramon watched Raistlin climb on top of its snaking neck.

“Wait! Raistlin!” the big man cried and ran towards the dragon. “I'll go with you!”

His twin turned to him from the back of the great beast, the fading light of the moons glinted off his metallic skin, gleamed in those cold, strange eyes that would - and had - see things that would drive Caramon mad.

“Would you?” Raistlin asked quietly. “Would you go with me into the darkness?”

~~~

From inside the doomed ship's cabin, Caramon could feel the force that held it, pulling them deeper and deeper into the eye of the whirlpool – farther into darkness. The wooden planks groaned from the strain. There was screaming now from above as people he knew and cared for were being swept away by the mad torrent.

The sounds echoed the agony tearing through his heart.

“They made me watch so that I would understand him!” he cried wretchedly, clutching at his hair. “I do understand!” Caramon sobbed. “I'm sorry! Just don't go without me, Raist! You're so weak! You need me-”

“No longer, Caramon,” Raistlin whispered as the blood red water washed over him, pulling Caramon deeper and deeper into the sea, tearing him away from his twin.

Cutting every cord between their hearts.

Blood flowed.

“I need you no longer!”

~~

“Farewell, my brother,” the words were carried to him on the breeze as the green dragon took flight and was soon swallowed by the stars above. A light on the horizon spoke of the coming dawn, the sun was sharp and razor-edged like the blade poised before his heart, now dripping with blood.

Caramon had thought that every last shred of brotherhood had already been lost by this point...

How wrong he was, for each time he saw him, Raistlin found more ways to wound him.

It had not been death to finally separate them.

It was the cold, cruel reality that the twins were nothing like one another.

Those pale stars on the horizon began to swirl and spin, caught in the maw at the center of the Blood Sea. One by one they too were swallowed by the red water, drowned and crushed by the void beyond where Raistlin had disappeared, as if he were devouring all of existence.

~

Caramon watched, numb as Raistlin disappeared. The ship around Caramon split apart but through the deafening sound of water and screams, he faintly heard the sound of crying.

The warrior swam against the current and caught a glimpse of bright red curls, the edge of a slightly pointed half-elven ear and the glimmer of a blue crystal staff before they too were swallowed up by the darkness.

Lost to him.

Leaving him alone to deal with the soul-rending abandonment.

They could never understand...

Caramon swam and he swam, breathing in the blood. It tasted like metal at first, like the blade that had repeatedly wounded him - those words spoken from a golden mouth. Suddenly the flavor changed to incense and spices and smelled like his brother's tea.

The crying grew louder and Caramon forced himself to keep going, forced his legs to move, his arms to pump, even though he had no more strength left. His body was empty, his soul left to drift alone by itself.

He was useless, no one needed him anymore.

With that thought he faltered and the water pulled him back down, deeper into the nothingness; farther into the crushing event horizon of the whirlpool and into the sea of loss that he would never pull himself from.

As he continued to sink, unable to call forth the will to live, the blood began changing color and bubbles began to float past him. Thick and musky, the amber water now had the unmistakable flavor and scent of dwarf spirits.

It was there to offer him sweet, sweet escape! And Caramon took in great lungful's of it, saturating his body with the potent liquor.

But no matter how much he drank, no matter how much it dulled his mind, the booze did nothing to ease the pain in his heart. It did not fill the place where that small, tiny dagger had cut through the last remaining thread between him and his twin like a sword through warm butter.

The knife was forged by his twin's words:

“ _... Farewell, my brother. I need you no longer...”_

Suddenly the water was clear.

No longer red, nor the dark amber brew of drink or the foul water from under the Temple, this water instead was dark and inky. The depths of it swirled with blackness that held no substance as the crying was even louder now.

Then the crying became screams.

Heart-rending, soul-tearing screams of a grown man in terrible agony.

Caramon knew that voice. He knew it like his own.

The sound vibrated through his bones, through his soul, stirring again every instinctual reaction that he had ever felt to comfort and protect.

His brother, his twin...

Caramon knew that could not forsake him.

Tentacles of darkness writhed out at Caramon and he fought them off with a gleaming blade of silver that suddenly appeared in his hands. On and on he fought, hacking and slashing through the foulness that stood between him and his twin. It seemed to take eons but he knew that he was getting closer and with this knowledge he refused to give up. Though he had no more strength left, Caramon would never be able to turn his back on his twin, even if the same could not be said the other way around.

Gods help him; Caramon couldn't leave Raistlin if he was in need!

It was his weakness, this love he bore for his twin.

Caramon knew it would be his undoing. He knew it would be his fate to die this way...

But gods the sound Raistlin made... he _had_ to save him!

Even after everything that Raistlin had done to him, even after all of the cruel words and thankless hours of gentle care, Caramon would do it gladly.

He would die for his weak, fragile other half.

So be it.

Through the maelstrom the big man struggled as he cut down legions of monsters that were consuming his twin. The foul, twisted shapes shattered, only to reform before Caramon's eyes. Their faces were that of Raistlin one moment, then someone not Raistlin (but vaguely close to him) the next. Caramon didn't understand this, but he knew that whatever these things were they were not the twin he entered the world with. And so he ended them with the blade made of shining silver.

Finally the darkness parted and there, on the floor, sat the huddled form of his twin. The boy was a man now, dressed in soft, velvety black robes that consumed all light; the golden runes on the hems glittered like dying stars. Raistlin's arms were over his head and he was rocking pathetically back and forth on the dirty floor of their boyhood room, sobbing in terror and pain.

Caramon sat down beside Raistlin and adjusted the candle on the floor between them. Holding his hands up in front of him he said -

“ _Look, Raist, bunnies....”_

***

Caramon bolted up in bed, the screams and sobs of his twin still rang in his ears just as the sun broke the horizon over the town of Solace, spreading its blood-red light over the new buds on the vallenwoods.

“Caramon...?” a voice muttered sleepily next to him.

He looked down into the face of his wife, her green eyes half open. “I'm okay, Tika,” he said, his voice thick as he rubbed the hollow point in his chest that still fluttered painfully.

“Just a dream, go back to sleep,” he said absently, not sure of the truth of it himself.

Tika, all too used to her husband's night terrors, gave a noncommittal grunt and buried her face back into her pillow.

Caramon looked around the bedroom he shared with her and out through the window at the slowly rising sun. It was early spring in the valley but last night had a bite of frost to it, for the window pane was laced with soft, feathered designs that gleamed beautifully in the red light of dawn.

He found no beauty in it, however, for it reminded him too much of blood.

Too much of red robes...

Sighing, Caramon eased himself out of bed and adjusted his sleeping shirt that lay askew over his large belly. Running his thick hand through the tangled mess of light brown, auburn kissed hair, he raked through the gentle waves and pushed them out of his eyes before grabbing the short length of leather cord on the nightstand to tie the strands out of the way.

That done, Caramon made his way to the door, giving the small bassinet by the wall a quick glance as he passed. The babe within was still sleeping soundly; a blessing this morning as Caramon desperately needed time to himself right now.

He walked down the hallway, remembering at the last second to step around the one loose floorboard that always creaked alarmingly if stepped on. Perhaps he'd fix that this weekend. He'd finally have time, this being the first weekend in months that he and Tika had off from tending the Inn of the Last Home. Every so often Old Otik and his wife would tend to duties at the Inn so that Caramon and Tika could spend some uninterrupted time with the children.

Why did the weekend have to start like this?

Glancing out the kitchen window as he passed Caramon found that the sun had risen farther and begun to melt the silver frost on the glass as well as on the branches of the trees. Birds were beginning to stir and sing.

It was going to be a fine day. Truly, spring was finally here.

With the change in seasons there was the guarantee of new growth, the return of migrating animals and birds, travelers and patrons for the Inn, and the reminder of painful memories.

This spring was the sixth year marking the end of the War of the Lance. And six years since he had last seen or heard from Raistlin.

Raistlin....

A lump filled Caramon's throat and he tore his eyes away from the rising sun and into the dim living room. He went and stoked the fire in the hearth in a vain attempt to distract his mind.

As always it did no good.

He hadn't meant to think of his twin, nor of what had happened between them six years ago. But his mind was well aware that Raistlin had left him at this time of year and with the reminder came the nightmares.

The painful memories of loss, the feeling of helplessness, of not being needed...

To say that Caramon had struggled after Raistlin had left would be an understatement. Sure, he had his friends beside him. He had Tanis and Laurana, Goldmoon and Riverwind, Tasslehoff and of course, Tika. He had children now, a family, and Caramon did his best to provide for them.

But they were not enough to fill the gaping hole in his chest that had always existed for his twin, his other half. Raistlin had always said that they were one person born in two bodies.

And Caramon had come to embrace this reasoning to be the truth.

Caramon was not smart, not like Raistlin. He was not ambitious; he had no clear path ahead of him and without Raistlin's guidance and forward thinking the big man's life quickly became stagnant.

As time went on Caramon filled the void inside him with a new companion; one that still haunted him and sometimes held him fast in its grasp.

His task with the fire done, Caramon's eyes went to the place behind the bookshelf where there was a loose stone in the wall and behind it, his secret vice.

His steadfast, unquestioning companion...

One that would never leave him.

Caramon had resisted it for months now and was proud of himself for doing so. But as the minutes wore on the silence became overwhelming, the big man found himself on his hands and knees pulling the bookcase far enough away from the wall to loosen the stone in order to reach behind it.

With shaking hands Caramon pulled out the small metal flask and held it to his chest as gently as he had held each of his newborn sons.

Just one sip.

It would be fine.

He licked his lips eagerly, his body already beginning to tremble in anticipation.

“Daddy?” a tiny voice stopped him before he uncorked the flask.

Hastily Caramon hid the little canister in his big palms and looked behind him to see his oldest son standing there in the middle of the living room. The boy's curly red hair was a tangled mess as he rubbed his blurry eyes with the back of a small hand. A trail of tattered blanket strung out behind him, the boy having dragged it through the house - a child's own harmless vice.

“Tanin?” Caramon cleared his throat and turned to his son. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I had a bad dream... Why're you?” Tanin asked, swaying slightly as he dropped his hand away from his eyes. “What'd you doin'?” the lad mumbled, his words slurred by sleep, as he finally took in the scene before him.

“Me too kid.” Caramon smiled at his boy. Then, tucking the flask into his shirt pocket, he shoved the bookcase back against the wall. “When I got up I heard a mouse behind the bookshelf. Don't worry,” he soothed, seeing the child's eyes widen, “I chased it out. Come on, let's get you back to bed.” Slowly he got to his feet, his knees straining under his weight, and ushered the boy up the steps to the loft.

Minutes later Tanin was back in the small bed that he shared with his younger brother Sturm. The other lad was still fast asleep, dreaming his carefree dreams.

Not even a year apart, the two looked nearly identical.

Many mistake them for twins.

At this reminder a lump filled Caramon's throat as he turned to leave. Silently he closed the bedroom door and slowly descended the narrow stairs back to the main floor of the small home he had built for himself and Tika. Now the two of them had begun to fill the rooms with children.

There was still one room, however, that no one entered.

To this day, Caramon still held hope that its occupant would return but until then, the door was nailed shut. The big man knew that to open it up and allow anyone else inside, even his own children, would be akin to opening up the wounds in his heart that had taken years to stop bleeding.

So, despite repeated fights with Tika over it, Caramon kept the room sealed shut. It was better to leave these things locked away, shut inside where no one could see his pain.

Caramon tiptoed back to his bedroom, avoiding that one stubborn creaky floorboard as he did. Entering quietly, he was forced to pause and blink rapidly as the rising sun shot bright yellow beams straight into his eyes through the window.

As his eyes adjusted Caramon took solace in the soft, even breathing of his beloved wife still sleeping in their marital bed. Blinking the last of the blurriness from his eyes, Caramon paused to gaze at her form. The blankets were pulled up to her shoulders but the fabric was unable to hide the massive mound of wild, bright red curls that sprang out like a cascade of fire. It was nearly as bright as the sun that had burned his eyes a moment before.

Gods, he loved her.

Tika Waylan Majere was still a head-turner. Her beauty would be considered nontraditional by some with her mass of fire-red curls and freckle covered skin, but Caramon thought she was the most beautiful woman on Krynn. Even though her already curvaceous figure had grown some due to pregnancy and childbirth, it only made him love her body more. She had grown his son's in that body and though Tika sometimes thought it unseemly, Caramon worshiped her as the goddess he swore she that was.

Caramon didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve her patience, especially not after all the things he had put her through...

Before the guilt set in a small coo drew Caramon's attention to the side of the room. With as much stealth as he could muster he crept over to the bassinet. Within it is his youngest and Caramon found that the baby was struggling out of his soft blanket. Half-asleep, Palin fussed as his father tried to adjust the cloth better around him and in doing so, the man caught a glimpse of the child's face in profile.

Caramon's heart clenched painfully.

For a second the face of his son resembled that of his twin so closely that Caramon was certain he was back in the dream. Blinking again, blaming the leftover haze from the sun, the image faded and he looked upon the features of his own child. Soft, auburn hair, not curly like his brothers nor as red, stuck out around the baby's head in wispy-fine strands. Palin was going to be one year old in a few months, born on the very same day as Caramon and Raistlin...

The former warrior loved all of his children, but this one brought him more joy and more heartache than he could ever possibly imagine. There could be no mistaking the resemblance that the fine boned baby had to his estranged uncle. Caramon tried repeatedly, over and over, to tell himself that he may have lost Raistlin, but at least part of him was here within his son.

It never seemed to dim the pain of his loss, however.

The flask against his breast felt heavy, ominous.

Silently, with his back to his wife, Caramon drew the little flask out from his shirt pocket and held it in his hand. It was a finely made piece. The opening of it was fashioned in the shape of a griffin's head. Its wings were the sides of it and within its beak was held the stopper.

Flint Fireforge had made it years ago before the adventure that had flung the companions to the far corners of Ansalon. Caramon had found it for sale shortly after returning to Solace, being resold by another merchant that had purchased it off a traveling tinkersmith. It was one of the very few things of the old dwarf that Caramon had.

He missed him, that old cantankerous dwarf...

Thoughts of his passing made Caramon think of another death of one dear to him. He thought of Sturm Brightblade, killed at the hands of Caramon's own half-sister Kitiara while he defended the High Clerist Tower in Palanthas. The man he had named one of his own sons for.

So much death, so much loss.

But sometimes death was easier to accept. Death was final, certain. It didn't ring with questions and regrets; of failure because he wasn't good enough...

The flask was heavy in Caramon's hands as he stared blankly at it, lost in the grip of memories. It had been nearly five years since he had last had a drink of the dwarf spirits, since he pulled himself up out of the gutter and sobered up.

Or, at least, that is what his wife and friends thought.

Unknown to everyone else, there were other flasks around the house; ones that were filled with far less potent liquor. Ones that were used every now and then in secret.

This one, filled with fiery dwarf spirits, he hadn't touched since Tanin had been born.

Just a sip.

It would be fine.

No one would know.

Surely old Flint would forgive him if he had just one small drink to ease his nerves. Wine and ale were too weak to wash away that dream..

Flint would understand.

Yes, of course he would.

Caramon had been doing good for so long. Surely, one small sip of dwarf spirits after five years of not touching it wouldn't undo everything. He had learned to manage the wine and ale... perhaps he could learn to hide this as well.

Just a smell.

With shaking hands Caramon began to pull the cork out of the flask.

Just a taste.

One small drop on his tongue to take the edge off the lingering nightmare then he'd go back to bed and no one would be the wiser.

Yes, it would be fine. It would all work out.

He almost had the cork free when baby Palin in the bassinet began to fuss as if knowing what his father was about to do.

Caramon swore under his breath when he heard Tika roll over in the bed again, her maternal instinct was stronger than her need for sleep. Quickly shoving the flask back in his shirt pocket Caramon said to her, “Don't worry, dear, I have him.”

“He's probably hungry,” she mumbled, barely coherent. “I'll be up in a bit to feed him...”

“I've got it, my love. You sleep in. You deserve it,” he said as he scooped up his now very fussy infant out of his bundle. “I think there is some leftover goat's milk he can have until you get up if he's hungry, but I don't think he is.”

“You sure...?” she asked, still half asleep.

“Yup!” Caramon reassured. “I knew it! He's working on a present for me as we speak. Aren't you, my boy?” Caramon grinned wider at his son who was in that moment making his 'poopy face', as Tika called it.

Tika groaned again and started getting up.

“I've got it!” Caramon reassured and, flask forgotten, exited the bedroom to clean up his child. As he did his heart, still heavy with memory, lightened just a fraction.

His twin may be gone, but he had those here, right now, that needed him.

And nothing on Krynn - not potent spirits or painful memories - would ever take this away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5/21/20: Thanks again for reading! I can't tell how many got through Part 1 and who all has returned or how many readers are new to the saga  
> Either way, welcome back and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
> Much of the dialogue from the beginning is taken from passages in Dragons of Spring Dawning in those pivotal moments when the twins face off.  
> There's so much juicy stuff to dig through with Caramon! So many emotions and so much pain and anger there. I can't wait to explore all the things that were barely hinted at in the books.  
> Let me know your thoughts :)  
> Take care, stay safe, and see you next week.


	3. Aftermath

Yurielle and an unconscious Raistlin appeared five hundred feet away from the Chamber of Fistandantilus within the Jaws of Death that formed the mouth of Skullcap.

But it was not far enough away.

Not by a long shot!

Even from here Yurielle could hear the scream of rage the Archlich bellowed at their disappearance. It was a horrible, crazed sound but it was also laced with a hint of triumph.

Fistandantilus may have lost one prize, but he had gained another.

Her sister... Ariallah.

Yurielle looked down at the man she loved, grasped tightly in her arms, and gave a heart-wrenching sob. The woman knew that if she didn't keep moving, she'd be mourning more than just her sister. She couldn't lose Raistlin too. If she did...

Yurielle knew it would destroy her.

“Stop it!” she scolded herself.

Forcing herself to focus, Yurielle closed her eyes and repeated the spell, sending her and Raistlin five hundred feet out into the swamp. Reappearing in the brackish water, Yurielle held desperately onto the archmage to keep his head above the murky, dirty swamp.

“Raistlin!” she yelled and shook him, trying to wake him up.

It was no use. He was out cold.

All Yurielle could see were the whites of his eyes peeping out between his eyelids as his head rolled uselessly from side to side. She looked behind them at the leering skull towering above, its visage appearing through the mist like a skeleton about to lurch forward and swallow them whole at any moment.

Then the ground began to shake.

“RAISTLIN!” she screamed, trying not to panic and failing.

Using the buoyancy of the water, Yurielle began to drag the archmage through the swamp as fast as she could. It was difficult pulling him along while also trying to keep hold of the Staff at the same time and Yurielle quickly grew fatigued the deeper the water got. Once or twice her grip on Raistlin failed and he slipped from her grasp to disappear under the slimy muck. Swearing each time this happened Yurielle pulled him back up and her heart would sink, for he was growing paler by the moment.

“Come on, Raistlin, don't do this to me!!” she pleaded and looked to the far ledge in which the entrance to his magically summoned space lay hidden.

It was too far away. They would never make it before Fistandantilus would find them!

“Please...” Yurielle breathed and raised her eyes to the sky.

All three moons stared down at her, each within their own phase. She felt the gods of magic watching her, waiting with collectively held breaths to see what had been unleashed upon their world.

The ground began to tremble harder, causing the water to ripple and splash over the two of them.

“PLEASE!” she screamed up at the watchful, silent gods. “I can only cast the spell once more and it's too far! Help me reach the entrance!” Her voice caught in her throat as a wave of filthy water soaked her, causing her to choke and spit.

“I beg of you! I have done all that you've asked!” Yurielle pleaded when her mouth was clear. “Gods of the arcane, please, lend me your aid one last time!” she yelled desperately. “He was your chosen once! How can we fight what's been unleashed if he perishes now?! Please! I'll do anything, _give_ anything! Please...” The last came out as a sob, tears stung her eyes and left clean trails through the grime on her skin.

The wind blew around her and caused the mists to drift quickly over the moons above. It seemed as if they winked like three blinking eyes in the sky.

In her heart she heard their answer.

“Thank you,” she breathed in reverent gratitude and cast her spell again with her last remaining magic. The Staff of Magius in her hand flared brightly, adding its own power to the spell.

Raistlin and Yurielle winked out and reappeared just feet from the hidden doorway to the archmage's extradimensional space. Yurielle could see the outline of the spell shimmering in its usual golden light.

Looking up to the sky she smiled at the three low hanging moons and whispered one more thanks before rolling onto her stomach. Damp and now chilled to the bone, she coughed out some more slimy water from her airway before wearily pushing herself up off the ground. Turning, she looked back down the valley to the foreboding structure nestled in the thick fog.

The ground was vibrating even at this distance and as she watched, Yurielle could see the eyes of Skullcap begin to glow. Geysers in the swamp began to erupt as power beneath the ground that she could not comprehend was unleashed. In terror, Yurielle looped her arms underneath Raistlin's armpits and pulled with all of her remaining strength.

Dragging him quickly to the doorway, she all but threw him inside the shimmering portal just as bright green fire belched from eye sockets of Skullcap and the swamp was incinerated by a tidal-wave of magical energy.

Without hesitation, for she had no desire to see what would happen next, Yurielle followed her lover through the portal and collapsed next to him on the floor of the hidden hideout just as the shock wave blasted against the cliff face outside.

***

Raistlin stirred and slowly came to consciousness. His head was pounding and his whole body ached. His mouth tasted funny as if he had been forced to drink something thick and potent. He began to cough and instinctively rolled over onto his side. The fit passed quickly and he managed to take a long, slow breath, filling his lungs completely with warm air.

His eyes snapped open.

The act of breathing was different...

His lungs did not hurt! They did not rattle!

Raistlin breathed again, almost too quickly, as if he wasn't convinced that the first time wasn't a fluke and he coughed again. In awe he noted that no wheeze was felt or heard; gone was the feeling like his lungs were filled with webbing and stuffed with cotton and thorns. They felt clear and open, more open than they had ever been for as long as he could remember - despite the fact that they were raw and easily irritated at the moment.

He did the action again, slowly this time in order to give them a chance to adjust. Breathing gently, Raistlin savored the feel of soft, warm air as it flowed unhindered through his nose and mouth, down his throat and deep into the depths of his chest into places he long thought dead and useless.

The archmage fought the urge to cry, for it was the most wondrous sensation he ever thought possible. He rapidly blinked back the tears of disbelief as a wave of gratitude and joy washed over him

Quickly his head began to swim at the overabundance of oxygen flooding his bloodstream. Raistlin ignored it as he took another breath, then another, forcing himself to do it slowly as to not hyperventilate in his over exuberance.

He could breathe!

Suddenly there _was_ the sound of crying near him. Turning to the source, Raistlin found Yurielle laying beside him, her red-rimmed eyes were wide and shimmering with tears, watching him.

“Raistlin...” she gasped and slowly, with obvious pain and effort, sat up.

“Yurielle!” Raistlin exclaimed and sat up himself. He stared at her in horror at the condition of her body that lay exposed to him. She was covered in cuts and dark contusions. Along her cheek where the Guardian had touched her was an ugly, black bruise. Her hands were clumsily bandaged and he could see raw, angry red flesh exposed on her fingers and palms. The linen wrappings were blotched with dried blood.

The archmage took note of himself then and found that his body was bruised as well; on his golden skin the bruises showed up as brown and purplish marks, but they were nowhere near the extent of Yurielle's. Looking around them he tried to remember what had happened.

They were within a large room with an unfamiliar fireplace burning brightly nearby. Both of them were naked beneath a large, warm mound of blankets and furs. His hair, as well as Yurielle's, was damp and Raistlin saw some of the incorporeal forms of his summoned servants hovering in the doorway nearby.

Everything came rushing back to him.

Before he could process the flood of memories Yurielle was suddenly on him, nearly on his lap, her bandaged hands on either side of his face and pressing her lips against his repeatedly as she burst into uncontrolled tears. Through her sobs, she peppered his face with thankful kisses, incoherently murmuring a string of words as she did so.

“Yuri, slow down!” Raistlin commanded and noted that though his lungs felt clear, his throat was raw from screaming, making his voice harsh and even more raspy than usual. “Calm yourself,” he said gently and pulled her away from him.

“I'm...” she sobbed, “I'm so happy that you woke up!” She couldn't continue through the onslaught of tears.

Raistlin drew her to his chest and tucked her head under his chin as she cried. He knew that she wouldn't be able to do anything coherent any time soon while in this state, so he allowed her tears to run their course while he softly caressed her back.

As he did, Raistlin let the events of what had happened slowly play through his mind. They had descended into Skullcap and finally found their way into the Chamber of Fistandantilus deep beneath it. There, they came face to face with what was left of Par-Salian and had discovered - to their horror - that the former Highmage had fully given himself up to the powers of the Archlich.

Raistlin could remember Yurielle's twin handing him the blackened Skull that belonged to the once living Fistandantilus. He remembered someone whispering...

Then... then he put on the Skull.

Next he was swallowed by an empty blackness that he had almost lost himself within.

It was the worst feeling that he had ever experienced.

More real than any of his nightmares, this empty void had been a reality. He had been pushed aside as the lich began to fill his physical body with foul essence while he started to absorb Raistlin's soul.

Raistlin knew that he had very nearly been lost.

Until that is, he remembered his Star. Her memory had lit the darkness and within that empty space of nothingness Raistlin had been able to focus on and follow the sound of her song. He managed to wrench control of his body back from Fistandantilus; managed to fight the overwhelming entity that had rooted itself in his being.

Then... came agony.

He could recall the sensation of ripping and tearing as Yurielle's twin did... _something_. Somehow, Ariallah had severed the connections between life and death and, as Raistlin gained further control of his body, she tore the lich away.

In that moment Raistlin Majere had felt Fistandantilus be disconnected from every point in his physical body like a noxious weed being uprooted. Those roots had grown deep, being nourished by the dark tendencies of his own personality but, in the end, it had not been enough to sustain that thorny plant.

Ariallah had painfully torn the roots from Raistlin, severing the tether and causing great agony within the man. But all through this, Yurielle filled his heart and soul with her love and light, chasing away any lingering darkness and doubt and sealing the gaping holes left by those festering roots.

Fistandantilus had been powerless to stop it.

Running a hand along Yurielle's spine, Raistlin gently kissed the crown of her head. “My Star,” he whispered reverently. “My beautiful, wonderful, _amazing_ Yurielle. You did it!”

Yurielle drew away from him and met his eyes. Her indigo orbs were swollen with what must have been hour's worth of crying. She looked beyond exhausted and her skin was flushed feverishly. Scratches and bruises littered her pretty face and her damp hair clung to her skin like a web made of dark blood.

“ _We_ did it,” she croaked and kissed him again.

Returning her kiss, Raistlin pressed deeply against those delicious lips of hers. Savoring the taste of her; the softness, the warmth.

They had survived!

Finally they drew away from one another. “Tell me, my love, what happened?” he asked and brushed the wet hair from her face.

Yurielle sniffed and rubbed at her eyes. “Ariallah separated you as I held you against me... in your eyes, Raistlin... I saw _you_. I saw so many things!” Tears silently fell down her cheeks for several seconds while she fought against another wave of sobs.

Gently Raistlin wiped her tears away with his thumbs. “Then what? After she separated Fistandantilus from me, then what happened?”

She shook her head. “I'm not sure... but... whatever Ariallah pulled from you, I think she attached it to the Skull. There was then a blast of energy that knocked us all down. The Skull floated in the air above us, Ariallah was gone and you were unconscious...” Yurielle's skin paled and her eyes widened in memory. “Then... then Par-Salian...” she began to tremble, her words coming in little gasps, “...he summoned the Skull to himself and he put it on. Raistlin.... Fistandantilus is whole once more! He's alive!” Her words were now nearly as incoherent as before. “He... he....” She gulped mouthfuls of air, trying to calm herself and failing.

“Shh,” Raistlin soothed. “Take your time,” he tried to say but it was no use, she was quickly losing control again and he was deeply troubled by how shaken she clearly was.

“Aria!” was all she managed to shriek.

“What about her?” he asked gently, holding her face in his golden hands and couldn't help but note how hot her skin felt under his palms.

“She was there! Fistandantilus... he... Gods! Raistlin!” she cried, her voice cracking.

“Yurielle, you're scaring me,” he said, alarmed by how badly she began to tremble. Her eyes rolled in her head and teeth chattered as she fought to stay coherent.

“He brought her back!” she wailed.

“What do you mean?” he asked, not understanding.

“He brought her back!” she screamed, hysterical now.

Desperately Raistlin held either side of her face. “Yurielle, breathe!” he commanded. “Look at me! Look!” He shook her slightly, forcing her eyes to focus on him. “Breathe...” he said more gently when her eyes snapped to his. “Concentrate only on me. That's it,” he whispered and breathed with her. Pressing his forehead to hers he continued, “In....” he took a breath, “Out...” He released it and she followed suit.

They sat there for several minutes, breathing slowly. Yurielle stared into his eyes, gaining strength from the man she loved and got lost in those pools of molten gold and curses.

“Better?” he asked when some semblance of calm returned to her.

She nodded even though her breathing was still not completely normal. But at least she didn't appear to Raistlin to be on the verge of having a seizure. So he asked again, far more gently this time, “What happened, Yurielle? Go slow. Breathe. That's it.” He commended her on the calmer breath she finally managed.

“I'm here, nothing will harm you. Tell me, what did he do to Ariallah?” he asked softly, gently holding her face in his hands again and drawing away from her.

“He,” she began but her breath hitched. “He brought her back!” she continued when she could.

“What does that mean?” he asked, not understanding.

“He put the Skull on,” she said, her voice trembling. “He's whole again, Raistlin. Fistandantilus is physical! Ariallah's spirit was still nearby and he... he....” She shook her head and tried to blink back the tears.

They fell anyway.

“He used the Bloodstone and tore her soul from the other side and... brought her back.” Her red eyes locked on his again and he saw more sorrow within them than anyone should bear in a lifetime. “I had to choose, Raistlin... I had to leave her behind!” she sobbed and crumbled into his arms.

Raistlin drew her against hist chest and listened to her heart-rending sobs. Pure agony tore through his beloved and he did not know how to comfort her. If what she said was true, there were no words in any language that could provide solace.

Yurielle had chosen to save him and left her twin behind in the clutches of Fistandantilus.

It was a fate truly worse than death.

“Oh, Yurielle,” he whispered. “I am so sorry...” It was all he could say as a cold numbness filled his being at the very thought of what her other half could be going through in this very moment.

“I had no choice,” she said through her tears. “Aria said as much. She demanded that I take you and run! But, Raistlin, I saw fear in her eyes! She didn't know that he could do that!?” Her voice was breaking again. “ _How_ could he do that! I'm positive that what I saw was my sister brought back to life!”

Raistlin held her tightly as he ran his hand through her hair and down her spine repeatedly in the way that always calmed her while he thought about what she said. He didn't think it was possible - to bring a soul back from the other side without a body to house it in! But so much of what they had seen - things that defied all logical explanation - were true in the depths of Skullcap.

“Perhaps he only brought her soul back to this side,” he said softly, though he knew even that was a horrible fate.

“She looked real, Raistlin,” Yurielle moaned sadly. “She looked so real! Sounded so real! It was my sister in the flesh. Perhaps not _alive_ , but physical...”

Raistlin was quiet for a moment as he mentally ran through all the types of spells and magic that he knew of that would be capable of doing such a thing. His breath caught in his throat, his heart plummeted. There was one mention of something like this being possible inside one of Fistandantilus' books but, like many things within those pages, they seemed to only be theories.

Apparently the lich had perfected much during his ageless existence.

Yurielle sensed how quiet and still he became. “What, Raistlin?” she asked, heartbroken, for she knew him too well to not realize that he understood something in his silence. “What did he do to my sister?”

Raistlin swallowed. “I cannot say for certain,” he began slowly. “But, in one of Fistandantilus' spellbooks he outlines a few different theories of capturing a soul. One theory being,” he drew her closer in his embrace as if it would somehow shield her from the pain, “if a mortal's soul is traumatically cut loose or was unable to finish its life's purpose, they can come back in a sort of half-life. Perhaps she is some kind of...” his voice trailed off, not wanting to say it.

Because speaking it would make it real.

“What, Raistlin?” she asked. “Say it, _please_ tell me...”

“Yurielle...”

“TELL ME!” she wailed, hitting him weakly in the chest with a trembling fist.

“Such beings are called Revenants,” he said softly, his heart breaking with her. “Bound to physical life but dead inside, they must serve a purpose before they can rest. I cannot say if this is what Fistandantilus has done...” He shook his head slowly.

Raistlin pulled back again in order to watch Yurielle as his words sank in.

“A... Revenant?” she murmured numbly, her eyes blank.

“ _If_ that is what he has done to her,” Raistlin reminded.

“What purpose would she have yet to fulfill?” Yurielle asked too quietly and too calmly for Raistlin's liking. She was clearly in shock.

“Yurielle?” he asked when she did nothing but stare blankly.

“Who can say if it is her purpose... or his?” she whispered. Slowly, her eyes moved in her head to meet his. “I had to choose...!”

“I'm so sorry,” was all the archmage could say as he gathered her to him again.

Yurielle only sobbed brokenly in his arms.

“I'm sorry,” he soothed again. “It's only a theory that he wrote about so I cannot say if it is truly what he did to Ariallah's soul. But we'll save her, Yurielle, you have my word,” he promised as he continued to gently rock her.

Yurielle drew back from him so quickly she tore herself from his grasp. Her red rimmed eyes were wide. “NO!” she breathed. “You cannot go back there! Not now. We must get back to the others! Neither one of us is strong enough right now to fight him let alone save my sister!” she cried.

“I know,” he said softly with a sad nod. “But, I promise you, we'll find a way to save her if this has happened to her. However, a lot happened in a very short amount of time, Yurielle, you may not fully know all the details of -”

“I know what I saw,” she cried, cutting him off.

“I believe you,” he whispered. “Even so, I pray that it was all just an illusion or some trickery of his.”

Yurielle shook her head in denial of this and Raistlin too, in his heart, knew that his hopes were meaningless.

Fistandantilus had Yurielle's sister. Dead, alive - or something in-between - whatever fate Ariallah was facing, was beyond comprehension.

With a heartbroken sob, Yurielle collapsed into Raistlin's embrace; into his warmth and scent and aura of familiar, comforting magic. But these did little to soothe her, for she had no words anymore. She could no longer think about the fate of her twin lest it pull her down and fade her light. In the raw void left behind by her uncertainty and heartache, Yurielle only had tears.

And the archmage let her cry until they ran dry.

Raistlin lost count of how many minutes passed before her sobbing slowed and her resulting hiccups were under some semblance of control. His beloved was exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally and he could feel how weak she was, how drained and how feverish. Yurielle's skin was clammy and flushed, her red eyes had a glassy quality to them and her breath rattled differently than what her violent bout of tears would cause.

All while she cried Raistlin tried to piece together how they got out of Skullcap.

Finally, when she was calm enough, he asked her, “What happened then, Yurielle? How did you get us out of there?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I had to Dimension Door us away,” she said quietly. “But not before... not before his eyes met mine.” She wrapped her arms around herself protectively within Raistlin's already protective arms.

But still she did not feel safe.

In that moment Yurielle looked, and felt, so broken and ruined. So sad and empty, and she could still feel the cold, suffocating power of the Archlich's stare pulling all warmth from her bones.

Yurielle didn't feel like she could ever smile, or sing, again.

Holding his Star against his chest, Raistlin could piece the events together from that point onward. Or at least, he thought he could,. He still couldn't figure out how Yurielle had gotten them this far. It would have taken several castings of that spell in order to get them all the way out of Skullcap to here and he knew that she wasn't able to cast a teleport spell. Dimension Door was all she had available to her and its limits were many, range being the biggest obstacle to explaining how she had gotten them to safety.

Raistlin knew that he would find out the rest of the details once she had calmed herself a bit of time before the spell faded, but Raistlin wanted to get out of here and return to the safety of the others as quickly as possible.

“I love you,” he whispered softly and kissed the side of Yurielle's head. Still rocking her gently, Raistlin waited for her to settle herself completely. Once she had, he decided to skip any more details that would cause her to burst into tears. So instead of details on their flight from Skullcap he asked, “Why are we both naked and wet?”

She sniffed and attempted a small, sad chuckle as she rubbed her nose with the back of her bandaged hand. “What... afraid I did something inappropriate to you while you were asleep?” she asked, her voice thick and raspy.

Raistlin allowed himself to laugh softly at her wit and kissed her on the head once more. “Oh, I don't even have to suspect it, because I'm sure you did anyway,” he teased her in an attempt to make her smile.

Her mouth suddenly met his, eager and full of passion. The raw need behind her kiss surprised Raistlin and he gasped as Yurielle suddenly pushed him down onto the bed and was already straddling his hips with hers.

“Yurielle?!” he said in surprise. “Now?!”

“Yes, Raistlin!” she exclaimed as she clumsily tried to touch him. However, Raistlin could see how hurt her hands were as they began to shake and flinch in pain. “I need to feel you inside of me!” she insisted in frustration, glaring at her damaged hands as tears of utter frustration gathered in her eyes.

Gently taking her hands in his, Raistlin pulled her body down against him. “You're hurt, and feverish,” he said gently but couldn't contain a chuckle, “and always so insatiable! There will be time for all of the sex you want, Yurielle. I promise. But not now...” he trailed off as he inspected her poorly bandaged hands.

“How did this happen?” he asked, frowning deeply at the raw and angry skin. There were large areas of missing flesh off her fingertips and already they looked infected.

“I touched the Skull,” she replied, frowning back at him.

“Gods, Yurielle, this is going to scar!” he said and sat up and looked around the room to locate the supplies they brought. “Did you take a healing potion?”

“No,” she replied, also sitting up with him and wincing as she did so. “I gave them all to you,” she added in response to his deeper frown. “I thought you were dying!” she cried and the words came out in another hysterical shriek.

Gently the archmage ran his hand through her hair and pulled her forehead to his. “You need to think about yourself too,” he scolded.

In one of her sneaky maneuvers, Yurielle again met his mouth again, shattering his thoughts with her tongue. Before Raistlin could register what she was doing, her thighs were already on either side of him and she had him pushed flat down on the bed. The feel of her body so wet and insistent against his made his own respond instinctively.

Never before had Yurielle been so animalistic in her need and Raistlin was helpless beneath her as she mounted him. He held onto her thighs and hips as she completely claimed him. Fast and hard, all it took was a few deep thrusts before she gave a cry that was somewhere between pleasure, pain, and sadness. With a sob she fell against him and together they rolled to their sides.

“Better?” he asked as he pressed himself against her. Once more he noted how unnaturally hot she felt and his eyes were again drawn to the multitude of bruises on her body.

Yurielle gave a sniff and nodded against him. “I'm sorry...” she whispered brokenly. “I know you don't want me to feel pain, but I just needed to know that we were both alive!” The last words were said in another sob.

“Well, even if we're not,” he said softly, trying to lighten her mood, “this is a nice afterlife - just the two of us with a large bed and plenty of free time ahead of us.”

It worked, Yurielle laughed slightly and the sound of it lifted both of their hearts. “I love you, Raistlin.”

“I love you too,” he replied and held her close. His heart was thudding wildly in his chest. Not only from the quick and frantic sexual encounter, but also from all of the room there seemed to be inside of him. Raistlin felt lightheaded with the amount of space that was left after the archlich's departure.

After several long minutes of quiet resting in one another's arms, Yurielle finally broke the silence. “I used Dimension Door to get us out of Skullcap,” she said, continuing on where she had left off with the conversation minutes earlier. “But we ended up in the middle of the swamp and I only had enough energy to cast the spell one more time. I pulled you through the water for as far as I could before the ground began to quake. I could feel Fistandantilus's magic and rage billowing up from underneath of us.” She paused to wipe her eyes.

“This place was still too far away and you were out cold. I'm afraid I lost my grip on you a few times...” She gave a sad, apologetic smile. “So you may have gotten some swamp water in your mouth. Sorry,” she kissed the appalled look off his face, “but if it makes you feel any better, I swallowed more than my own share.”

“How did you make it the rest of the way?” he asked.

“I prayed,” she replied.

He cocked his head to the side questioningly.

“The moons were all above us and I pleaded to the gods to aid me. They gave me the power to use my last spell to appear just outside of the portal. The Staff of Magius also helped, I think. When we arrived I may have shoved you inside and landed on top of you when I jumped in myself.”

“That would explain some of the bruises,” he said and noted a few sore spots on his body now that he gave it any thought. He felt like he had been bashed against every rock and surface between here and Skullcap, but Raistlin knew that he couldn't blame Yurielle for it.

He owed her not only his soul, but also his life.

“The servants helped me undress and bathe you,” she said. “We both stank of swamp water and death. Plus I needed to warm you up. You were like ice by the time I got you in here. I was so worried...” Her eyes shimmered again with new tears. She wiped at them furiously. “I gave you all of the healing potions and after a while some color came back to you and you seemed like you were sleeping better. I tried to rest as well but...” She shook her head and Raistlin knew that she would most definitely have not been able to sleep after all that had happened.

Raistlin softly kissed her forehead. He could imagine what she was going through during this time, alone and worried about him. Not to mention heartsick about what may or may not have happened to her sister. He knew that Yurielle wasn't strong enough in any of her magic to get them away from this place, but for her to even get him back inside of here all by herself was no small task.

“So we got that bath I promised you but I was unconscious for it. That doesn't seem fair,” he said sarcastically. Yurielle gave a chuckle against him and he gave her another squeeze. “I'm so very proud of you, Yurielle. Thank you. You saved us both.”

She gingerly placed her hands on either side of his face and looked deep into his eyes. Raistlin seemed to recall her doing that while they were down in the Chamber of Fistandantilus as well. She was searching for something inside of him.

“Fistandantilus?” she asked. “Do you still feel him?”

Raistlin took another long, slow breath. That act alone was enough for him to believe that the Archlich was no longer connected to him. But he had to make certain. So he turned his thoughts inward and searched.

Long moments passed and he felt... nothing.

He felt only silence and a sense of emptiness that he was not expecting.

Raistlin shook his head slowly. “Can you sense him outside of my shield?”

“Be careful,” Raistlin warned, his face serious.

“I am,” Yurielle said. She concentrated for several minutes, waiting and searching and opening herself up to make her vulnerable to the lich in the same way that had happened at Wayreth the last time she tried this. She did it slowly, cautiously, and was braced to cut off her search the instant she sensed anything of Fistandantilus.

Yurielle's face turned from worry to elation as she carefully spread her senses along the golden weave of his skin and waited for the lich to latch onto her.

But he wasn't there.

Fistandantilus was gone!

“Raistlin!” Yurielle breathed in awe as a true, happy smile spread across her tear-stained face.

“I'm... free.” His own smile matched hers and he drew her back against himself for one more deep kiss. Raistlin let her kiss him and he kissed her in return until he felt the rest of the tension ease out of Yurielle's body. Drawing away, Raistlin couldn't stop the rush of laughter that bubbled up inside of him.

“Free!” he exclaimed.

Yurielle's laughter joined his and together they filled the room with it. Relief and love replaced the horror that had lingered, even if it was just for a moment.

For now at least, they could revel in the fact that Raistlin was free of the Archlich.

Unused to so much room in his lungs, and the fact that his whole respiratory tract was raw from screaming, Raistlin began to cough. Worried, Yurielle instantly moved to go make him his tea.

“No.” His hand shot out and stopped her before she could exit the bed. “I'm fine,” he said, still smiling and coughing. “There's... so much room now...” he explained as he rubbed his hand on his chest in an attempt to soothe his lungs.

Yurielle added her hands to his, softly massaging his chest until he stopped and watched (and listened) in awe when he took a deep breath. “That's amazing, Raistlin! I've never seen you breathe that deep before!”

He could only grin at her, tears of profound relief gathered at the edges of his eyes. “It feels... so good. I don't recall if I've ever breathed this well.”

Yurielle returned his smile but after a few heartbeats her face grew more serious as she looked at him intently. “If Fistandantilus is gone, then why is your skin still gold?”

Raistlin lifted a hand up in front of himself and inspected his skin. She was right, his flesh still glimmered with that hard metallic sheen that glinted golden as he turned his arm in the firelight. “I do not know,” he confessed.

Yurielle took his raised hand in hers and turned his palm to press it to her lips. “It doesn't matter. This riddle we can solve later. What do we do now, Raistlin? I can't think straight enough to try to remember how much time might be left on this space you've summoned.”

“A little over an hour is left,” he confirmed.

“Are you strong enough to get us out of here?” she asked. “I want to get away from this place,” she confessed quietly as she squeezed her eyes shut as if just being here pained her. “Please, let's get as far away from this place as soon as you are ready!”

The soft touch of his fingers on the side of her face caused Yurielle to open her eyes again. “Yes, Yurielle. Let us get out of here. Let's go home.”

Her face lit up in a dimpled smile and despite her obvious exhaustion and sickness, Yurielle sprang up from the bed. Raistlin sucked in a breath and managed to stifle any shocked sound he may have made as he fully viewed the damage done to her body as she moved away from him.

“You should send a message to Dalamar to let him know that we are on our way back,” Yurielle was saying as she gingerly gathered her clothes that the servants had washed, dried and returned while she had been tending to an unconscious Raistlin. After pulling her small clothes up her legs she brought his items over to the bed.

“What?” she asked, seeing the horrified look on his face.

“Yurielle, you're _covered_ in bruises!”

She looked down at herself and Raistlin saw in her eyes that it was indeed the first time she had really seen the extent of just how injured she truly was. “Oops...”

“Indeed,” he scowled. Taking the linen shift from her that she held in her hands. “Let me help you,” he said softly. “You can barely lift your arms, Yurielle.”

He was right, getting dressed proved to be a chore and by the end of it Yurielle was in obvious discomfort. “Thank you,” she said once she was dressed. “I'd return the favor if my fingers weren't so stiff...”

Raistlin eyed her hands, clearly bothered by how bad they looked. “We should at least re-bandage them,” he said.

Yurielle shook her head. “We'll be home in less time than that will take. Please, Raistlin!” she pleaded. “We can do whatever you want in the comfort of our own bed - if you don't mind! Besides, you own me all the sex I want and I'm holding you to that promise!”

“Fine!” Raistlin chuckled and shook his head, his heart soaring inside of his chest despite his displeasure with her injuries. The lightness of the feeling made him dizzy again. It was as if the love he felt for Yurielle had increased a hundred fold now that he didn't have such evil weighing him down.

He pulled his breeches on and laced them. Reaching into a component pouch he brought out a small length of fine copper wire. Then, closing his eyes, he concentrated on the dark elf.

“Dalamar? Yurielle and I have succeeded. We are returning to Palanthas shortly.” The archmage pulled on his tunic as he waited for his apprentice to reply.

There was only silence.


	4. Return to Palanthas

Raistlin Majere stood within the room inside of his magically created extradimensional space and waited for his former apprentice to reply to his message. Minutes wore on like hours when no reply came.

“Dalamar?” he asked again, spending more magic to recast the spell. “Dalamar, we are returning to the Tower shortly. Will you be waiting for us?”

Yurielle paused in pulling her hair back to meet his gaze, her own reflecting his worry.

Raistlin quickly pulled on his robe and turned to his lover. “Even sound asleep, Dalamar has never not answered me. I do not like this. Continue getting ready. If you're up to it, get something from the servants to eat and bring it in here. I will keep trying to contact someone.”

She nodded and instantly made her way out of the room to go find them some food. They both were weak and needed to get whatever energy they could before they left. Raistlin watched her leave and felt a pang of regret at sending her instead of going himself or at the very least summoning the servants to bring them sustenance, for Yurielle visibly limped and moved with difficulty as she exited. But the archmage knew that she had enough on her mind right now and even the most mundane tasks were better than her fretting on this new development.

Plus Raistlin needed his full concentration to ensure that he had cast the spell correctly. He had never tried to contact someone on a separate plane of existence before and after all that had just happened, was concerned his magic had been affected.

Fistandantilus was no longer inside of him, lending him strength... Was Raistlin still powerful enough now to achieve his goals?

Shoving the doubts from his mind, Raistlin again cast his spell. This time he tried Jenna, for he knew the woman should know where the dark elf would be. “Jenna, can you hear me? Yurielle and I are on our way to Palanthas. Is everyone alright? Answer me if you can.”

Still silence.

Yurielle returned moments later, her face was distressed when she realized that he had _still_ not reached anyone. Two spectral servants hovered behind her, each carrying a tray of cold chicken, bread, fruits and cheese. A third appeared a moment later with a large container of drink.

“Nothing?” she asked as she settled into a chair by the fire.

Raistlin shook his head as he joined her and helped himself to some food off the tray.

“Did you try Sisne?” Yurielle asked through a mouthful of chicken.

Her food-filled, puffed up mouth might have been adorable if the situation wasn't so dire and Raistlin again shook his head. “No, I'll try her next.” He quickly chewed a small piece of chicken and washed it down with some water. Amazingly Raistlin found that he was actually hungry.

Not just hungry, he was _starving_.

Yurielle watched in astonishment as he ate a good portion of the chicken, a whole piece of bread, and several slices of apple.

“Hungry, are we?”

Raistlin nodded as he again washed down the food in his mouth, gulping the liquid with gusto. Wiping his hand across his lips he again sent his spell. “Sisne? It's Raistlin Majere. Is everyone alright? Yurielle and I are returning to Palanthas.”

He shook his head when there was nothing but silence.

“Do you think Fistandantilus is interfering with the spell?” Yurielle asked, worry tinting her voice and features. It only added to her sorry state of appearance.

“I don't see how,” Raistlin said. “We are on a different plane of existence. Even if he put a barrier around the area where the doorway is, it won't affect the magic here inside this space.”

“Then what about Palanthas?” Yurielle asked. “Is there something blocking the spell on that side?”

Raistlin nodded thoughtfully, tapping his finger on his chin. “It's possible...”

Going to his pack, he pulled out a ball of black obsidian from one of the side pouches. Speaking the spidery language of magic, Raistlin activated the scrying spell enchanted within the orb. The surface of it flashed and, as Yurielle came up beside him, they both saw images appear before them of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas.

“There's a new shield up around the Tower,” Yurielle said. “I can see it...” She squinted her eyes in an attempt to view whose essence had been used in its creation but it was hard for her to tell.

Raistlin's brow furrowed at this new information, for something grave must have happened if such a powerful barrier had been erected. He himself couldn't see the shield, not like Yurielle could with the strange way she perceived magic, and the archmage wondered if it was there to keep something out or in?

A cold ball formed in his stomach.

Was it there to keep _him_ out?

Raistlin concentrated and the images across the orbs surface shifted, whirling as he tried to enter the Tower but the shield spell prevented him. All they saw were swirls of shadow and static that reformed again to show the outside of the Tower as the magic repelled his spell away.

Yurielle looked up into his face. “Try Crysania. She should be at the Temple. Perhaps she knows what's going on?”

“Good idea,” Raistlin said and did just that.

An instant later the face of Crysania appeared within the orb. She looked safe and normal, surrounded by white marble and other clerics within the Temple of Paladine. Closing his eyes, Raistlin cast another Sending spell. “Lady Crysania? It is Raistlin Majere. I am unable to contact Dalamar, what is happening? You can reply with twenty-five words or less,” he instructed.

Yurielle saw the priestess give a slight start at hearing Raistlin's voice in her head. She looked up and around herself in trepidation, expecting to see him.

Quickly realizing that she was being contacted via magical means, she excused herself from those around her and went to a secluded spot. “It is good to hear from you, Archmage. Renegade mages tried attacking the Tower last night. Dalamar and the others summoned a shield to protect -” She kept talking but the spells limit had been reached.

Raistlin cast the spell again. “Twenty-five words, Lady,” he said, interrupting her. “Dalamar summoned a shield... then what? I am also scrying on you so I can see you.”

They both saw an embarrassed flush spread across the cleric's cheeks as she began to walk again. Rounding a corner, she entered a room that Yurielle recognized as being the kind where they put sick people to be treated. They both saw that she then neared a bed in which Creven reclined.

“Creven is here,” Crysania said. “Talk to him!” She then used up the rest of her allowed words to explain to the red robe what was going on.

Instead of Raistlin having to send a message they both saw Creven reach next to him and pull out a small copper wire from his own component pouch. “It is good to hear from you, archmage. I hope you and Yurielle are well?” his rich baritone voice filled Raistlin's mind.

“Well enough,” Raistlin replied. “What has happened? We would like to return, but a new barrier around the Tower prevents us.”

They saw Creven nod. “Whoever was behind the theft in Wayreth attacked the Tower late last night,” he explained. “Can you teleport here, close to the Temple?”

Raistlin scowled in painful remembrance of the last time he had gotten so close to the Temple. “We will appear in the gardens outside,” he said at length, knowing he had no choice but to endure Paladine's power.

Creven nodded again. “Give me a few minutes to get there before you do,” he said as he began to climb out of the bed. “I will meet you there.”

Raistlin didn't use any more magic to reply. Instead, he held the orb in his hand as they both finished gathering their belongings. He glanced at Yurielle and noted how a light sheen of sweat was now covering her skin. She looked pale and in a lot of pain.

“We'll be back in Palanthas shortly,” he said, more so to assure himself than her. “You can rest at the Temple while I figure out what is going on.” He frowned again when she only nodded mutely in reply. He expected her to at least say that she was fine. The fact that she wasn't putting up any form of argument was beginning to worry him.

This wasn't like the fiery Yurielle he knew and loved.

The two of them waited until they saw Creven slowly exit the Temple, being helped down the steps by Crysania. Raistlin looked down at Yurielle, who likewise was leaning heavily on his arm.

“Ready?”

Yurielle looked up at him, her eyes red and glassy. “Yes, Raistlin, you don't even have to ask.”

With one last kiss on her forehead, the archmage cast his teleportation spell. They winked out from within the magical space and appeared within the gardens at the Temple of Paladine.

***

When the two appear again Yurielle swayed heavily, her knees giving out as she collapsed against Raistlin. Worried, he steadied her with his arm around her waist as Crysania hurried forward to help.

“Take her,” Raistlin ordered without allowing Yurielle to object. “She is in need of healing! Now!”

Crysania nodded and looped the other woman's arm around her shoulders and together they made their way back towards the Temple. Soon other clerics joined them and helped the Revered Daughter bring her charge into the building. Yurielle only managed one quick glance at Raistlin before she disappeared through the gilded marble doors.

“It looks like the two of you have been to the Abyss and back,” Creven said, his dark eye critically sweeping over the archmage after Yurielle disappeared. “Forgive me, archmage, but you look like you need healing as well, by the way that you are standing.”

Indeed, now that the two of them had been active, the gashes and contusions on Raistlin's body had begun to ache and cause him pain since he had first woke up. He wondered if he had a broken rib, or at the very least a bruised one, so great was the stabbing feeling in his rib cage if he moved wrong but so far, breathing was still easy. Unconsciously his hand went over the area and he winced, for even the smallest contact sent pain through his chest as if the nerves there were just now waking up.

“She needs it more,” he said, his eyes still on the doorway where Yurielle had disappeared and as if reminded about the raw state of his lungs and throat, he began to cough.

Creven nodded, figuring that there was no point in arguing with the archmage. He hadn't known Raistlin long, but he knew well enough to understand that his word was final, despite proof to the contrary.

“I trust that you were successful then?” he asked, changing the subject.

Raistlin nodded in affirmative as his coughing fit passed. “Yes,” he grunted, his rib cage now very much irritated. “But it did not go as smoothly as we had hoped,” he added when the pain passed.

Finally, he looked away from the Temple to regard the man beside him. Creven looked stronger than he had since he had been the victim of an attack at Wayreth. He wore a red eye patch to match his red robes and the scarred skin on his face looked more uniform and smoother.

The dark-skinned man waited patiently for the archmage to elaborate, which Raistlin did. Quickly he told him of his and Yurielle's descent into Skullcap, how they entered the Chamber of Fistandantilus and how they faced the ruined body of Par-Salian; kept alive in a type of half-life by the lich.

At this Creven visibly shuddered. “By the gods,” he gasped but Raistlin did not pause in his retelling of events.

The archmage watched the other man's reaction as he reached the end of the story. “Yurielle's twin cut the tether between myself and Fistandantilus. Yurielle believes that her sister attached the link to the Skull itself. Par-Salian, or what was left of him, then came forward and put the Skull on, thus giving Fistandantilus' soul the physical body he's needed for centuries

Creven could only shake his head, disturbed and horrified by these events. “I think I need to sit down,” he said and slowly made his way to a nearby bench off the main path.

Raistlin nodded in agreement, for he also felt weary after retelling the story and breathing was becoming uncomfortable the longer they stood there. The two men reached the bench and sat down beside one another. Raistlin adjusted his Staff so it sat propped against the side of the bench within his reach before rubbing his eyes.

The light of the Temple was painful, yet now that he thought about it, being here wasn't nearly as bad as it had been that first time he had brought Yurielle to be healed. Granted, he wasn't as close to the structure now as he was then, but his forehead tingled slightly, proving to him that his beloved had indeed somehow warded him and had done a better job than Crysania herself had.

The reminder of Yurielle brought a swift ache to his heart and his eyes darted back to the doorway. Creven noticed the archmage's gaze and said, “I'm assuming there is more to the story... Yurielle... how did she manage to get you out of there?”

Tearing his eyes from the Temple, Raistlin regarded Creven with a grave expression. “Yes, I'm afraid that there is more. As I said, Ariallah, Yurielle's twin,” he added in case the other man didn't know her name, “severed the ties between myself and Fistandantilus. However, it would seem that she herself is tied to the lich. He used the Bloodstone to tear her soul from the other side and give her form as well. Yurielle was forced to choose...” as he spoke his eyes again drifted to the Temple. “Her twin.. or me. And it is tearing her up inside...” he finished quietly.

“Lunitari have mercy!” Creven exclaimed softly.

Raistlin gave a derisive snort without meaning to. “I'm afraid the gods themselves have enough to worry about now that Fistandantilus is loose. He is going to continue his plan on ascension, the same that he was using me for before I became aware of his influence on my decisions. But, I get ahead of myself,” he said.

“Yes, Yurielle got us out of there,” he continued. “She managed to use Dimension Door several times to get us away from Skullcap. With her last remaining spell power, she prayed to the gods of magic to aid her and apparently they granted her request and carried us to where I had an extradimensional space created across the valley from the ruins. I'm worried that she pushed herself too hard,” he added. “I've never seen her this sick and weak before...”

“She is strong, archmage,” Creven's deep voice interrupted his worry. “For one so gentle and unassuming, Yurielle has proven herself again and again to be made of hardier stuff than any of us could have believed. She has come far from the awkward girl surrounded by books and dust and moldy old artifacts.”

The archmage nodded and allowed himself a whisper of a smile. Yes, his Yurielle had come far. But had she finally reached her breaking point? How much could she endure before she began to fade on him? His tiny smile evaporated with this thought and the recollection of the recurring dream of how he had seen her broken, bloody body next to Takhisis....

Did it still have meaning now?

What, if anything, did Takhisis have to do with these events? Raistlin shook his head to banish the thought. He had no idea what it meant and loathed to think on it.

Refusing to acknowledge the memory a moment longer, he focused on his beloved instead. Yurielle had lost her twin once and had dealt with the pain over the many years of her life since childhood. But seeing Ariallah again, ripped from the other side and brought back only to be left behind in the clutches of something as horrible as Fistandantilus, was a fate that made even Raistlin squeamish to think about.

He couldn't even begin to fathom what Yurielle was feeling right now.

A whisper of a thought entered Raistlin's mind... _'What would I do if it were Caramon?'_ Again he shoved these thoughts from his heart and mind. Caramon had nothing to do with it. He was safe in Solace and there he could remain, growing fat and happy and spawning as many brats as he liked.

Raistlin's eyes then looked up over the Temple to where the Tower of High Sorcery loomed like a dark shadow. “What happened last night?” he asked to change the subject. His anxiety over Yurielle wasn't something he could deal with right now, but at least knowing what was going on would give him something else to focus on.

Creven likewise eyed the Tower. “I was not there, for as you know I've been here recovering. But Dalamar sent Sisne and Jenna here very early this morning with a message. Both women looked haggard, but intact. They had spent the night repelling an assault of undead from the Grove. It would appear that those who stole the artifacts from Wayreth have made their first move against us...”

Raistlin's eyebrows rose up his forehead at this new knowledge to then instantly knit tightly together in his trademark scowl.

“Dalamar, with the help of Geldwyn and Triandal,” Creven continued, “erected an anti-magic shield around the Tower, preventing anything else from teleportation in or out.”

“' _Anything else_ '?” the archmage echoed the red robes choice of words, not liking the implications that even one thing had entered his Tower unwelcomed.

“Unfortunately, the assailants managed to send in a few nasty creatures during the first wave of the attack. No one was seriously injured,” Creven added, seeing Raistlin's brow somehow furrow with even more anger. “The ones inside worked well together and quickly destroyed the undead and magical beasts. But they are shaken and found several more pockets in other areas of the Tower. Knowing - or at least _hoping_ \- that you'd return soon the women came here to give me a few enchanted stones that will allow you through the shield,” he explained as he reached into a spell component pouch at his hip.

After a moment he pulled out a handful of small, blue stones and placed them in Raistlin's waiting palm. “I have more,” the red robe explained. “They're using me as a means to allow others access into the Tower. No one would dare touch me here while I am under the care of Lady Crysania and the clerics of Paladine,” he added with a smug smirk.

“Indeed,” Raistlin said dryly as he studied the stones in his palm.

It was then that the door to the Temple opened and Crysania appeared. The two men rose from the bench to greet her as she approached.

“How is she?” Raistlin asked.

“Exhausted,” the cleric replied. “And she has a fever. A mild one, but no healing spell is breaking it. I'm assuming it is magical in nature, like the one you suffered from at Wayreth.”

Raistlin frowned. “Perhaps. She did use all of her magical resources to get us away from Skullcap. I'm sure her body is not used to such overexertion...”

Crysania nodded at the archmage's assumption. “It would make sense,” she agreed. “Though, I admit, I do not have knowledge in this area.” She looked meaningfully then at Raistlin. “How about you, archmage? Yurielle said that she gave you several healing potions. Are you in need of any direct healing?”

Raistlin shook his head. “I will be fine,” he said. “I much prefer you focus your abilities on her.”

“She is anxious to return to you,” Crysania added. “But for now I have commanded her that she rest for a while. She is attempting to nap. However... her mind is filled with terrible images and it is hard for her to calm down.” The cleric frowned. “I finally agreed with my colleagues to give her a sleeping potion and after some discussion I was able to persuade her to take it. She just fell asleep.”

The archmage sighed and the act made him wince. “Thank you, Lady Crysania. She needs her rest more than she needs me, so I prefer that she stay in your care until I know the Tower is safe for her to return to.”

The Revered Daughter nodded. “She is most welcome here. We will make her as comfortable as possible until you return.”

Raistlin bowed his thanks before turning to his fellow mage. “Did Jenna or Sisne have any other information on the ones who carried out the attack?”

“No,” Creven replied. “They didn't actually see anyone. No one tried entering the Grove nor the Tower itself and whoever summoned the undead either did it from a distance or teleported away instantly once they had.”

Raistlin eyed his Tower for many moments, his expression dark and foreboding. “It seems our foes want to make our lives difficult. Very well,” he said at length, his mind made up. “I shall go and learn what I may.”

“I'll go with you,” Creven said. “Despite your insistence on the contrary, you are wounded, archmage,” he said, putting his hand up to halt any retort from Raistlin. “If the Tower is being watched, you may be in danger on your way there.”

Raistlin glared at him. But after several moments of consideration, gave a curt nod. “Leave the rest of the stones here with Lady Crysania,” he instructed then turned to the Revered Daughter herself. “But do _not_ let Yurielle take them to follow us,” he said, scowling, “which I'm sure she will want to do once she wakes.”

Creven nodded and took a few more stones out of the pouch before handing the bag to Crysania who took them with a nod of her own. As he did, the red mage explained to her, “Dalamar enchanted them to allow those holding them safe passage through the Shoikan Grove as well as passage through the shield.” Turning to Raistlin he added, “He's good, your apprentice.”

The archmage nodded. “Indeed,” he replied, turning to the Tower and beginning to make his way to it, “I surround myself with only the best.”

The red-robe grinned and followed the golden-skinned man and together they made their way through the streets of Palanthas to the Tower of High Sorcery.

***

After the War of the Lance, the Temple of Paladine had been built within visual distance of the cursed Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. Many were opposed to this idea, saying that such a holy dwelling of the gods had no place in being so near something so dark and hideous. They argued that to be within the Towers' shadow was a mockery to the power of the Gods of light. But there were also those who saw the wisdom in why the new Temple's close proximity to the ancient Tower had to be so.

The races of Krynn had once forgotten that in order for light to shine its brightest, it needed its shadow beside it. The darker the shadow, the brighter the light, as the saying went. The Kingpriest of Istar had forgotten this fact centuries ago. He had grown afraid of the shadows, had sought to snuff them out.

To the detriment of all.

Raistlin pondered this as he walked down the nearly empty streets that led to his home. He was walking towards the shadows, into the darkness, and leaving his bright shining light, his Star, behind him. He felt the urge to look back at the splendid Temple just in case she would appear as she had done the last time. Those months ago she had come rushing out to meet him, her beauty was the only thing that prevented him from fleeing the pain he felt as a result of being so near the holy site.

He almost turned to see if she was indeed following, but the archmage held himself in check, for he knew that the clerics had given her a sleeping potion. Raistlin prayed to any god that would listen that she had at last been able to find some peaceful rest. He felt powerless in knowing that there was nothing that he could do for her. So instead, Raistlin knew that he needed to see to the others in the Tower in the meantime.

It was something he could control and have any power over. And for now it would have to be good enough. The two mages turned the last corner then and began their last leg of their silent journey.

The streets nearing the Tower were always quieter than the rest of the city, for the closer one got to that dreaded Grove, the stronger the sense of fear and despair that would grow within them, forcing them to turn back.

The first block surrounding the area was nearly empty of all life. Few dared to reside in the buildings and as such, they were not as well taken care of as the rest of the city. This suited Raistlin just fine, he did not mind that the immediate area around his Tower was empty. It had been a positive thing when the Conclave had last attacked the Tower, for no innocent bystanders were hurt in the assault.

The two men passed empty buildings as they neared the Tower. The black, vacant windows stared at them as they walked by. An early spring wind held a slight chill as it blew down the alleys and through the broken windows, filling the air with their various sounds. The breeze caught a sign and caused it to scream shrilly for a moment before the wind shifted again.

“By the Goddess,” Creven complained more to himself than to the archmage, “I think it's worse on this side of the Grove than it is within the Tower....”

Raistlin smirked inside the shadows of his hood, having put it up to block the wind. He didn't comment as they continued, now finally near the last row of buildings that encompassed his domain. Suddenly a movement in a doorway caught his attention, causing him to pause.

Creven had seen it as well and likewise stopped, his hand already reaching for his component pouch. “Someone is in that building,” he said after a moment, indicating what had once been, long ago, a bar that traveling mages had frequented in the days before the Cataclysm. A sign swung above the door, it had been the one that had let out the shrill scream a moment before.

“The Wizard's Hat,” Raistlin said, suddenly remembering the tavern's name. He had come here years ago and had used the Dragon Orb to temporarily remove Fistandantilus' hold on him. Raistlin paused as this memory began to come back to him, slowly at first, but soon the details became clearer and clearer.

“Archmage?” Creven's voice interrupted Raistlin's thoughts. “Are you unwell?”

Raistlin blinked, suddenly realizing he was leaning heavily on his Staff, his hand on his chest. His breathing was ragged, his lungs still unused to their new found freedom. He coughed into his sleeve to clear his throat. The act made his ribs hurt, causing him to wince again.

“I'm fine,” he said, steadying himself. “Merely thinking...” He shook his head to clear the sudden rush of memories and took a step in the direction of the tavern. Now was not the time to be distracted, he would come back to these thoughts later and sort through them.

“Be ready,” the archmage whispered to his companion. “Whoever is within knows that we are here.”

Creven nodded slightly and together they cautiously approached the old building. Raistlin gripped the Staff of Magius in his hand, its familiar texture was warm and reassuring. He then saw out of the corner of his eye that the red-robe had removed a wand from within his robes.

“We know you are there,” Raistlin said, his soft voice carrying easily on the breeze as loudly as if he had shouted the words. “Come out and no harm will come to you.”

Movement could be seen through the window as someone left their hiding spot and made their way to the front of the establishment. After a few tense moments a voice spoke, “Put your wand away, Creven, and be at ease, Archmagus. We do not wish to fight.”

The door to the Wizard's Hat opened and three figures exited; two white robes and one red.

“Antimodes,” Raistlin said, instantly recognizing the elder white-robed archmage. His cursed eyes took in the old man as well as his companions. They all bore signs of various injury. Before anyone could say anything, the red robed woman stumbled and caught herself on the doorway.

“Go back in and rest, Lillia,” Antimodes said, reaching a hand out to steady her. “I do not think the archmage wishes us harm.”

“No,” she shook her head and pulled herself up again. “I must know... I must hear it for myself!”

“Hear what?” Raistlin asked.

“That it was not you who attacked Wayreth!” Lilliamora shot back.

“What?!” Creven exclaimed.

“How do we know that it was not you that attacked _this_ Tower?” Raistlin asked, ignoring his companion as well as the implications of what the woman said.

“So you have not heard?” Antimodes asked wearily.

Raistlin and Creven shot each other questioning looks but remained silent.

“I take your silence for confirmation!” Lilliamora declared, reaching for her belt.

Raistlin held out his hands, palms up. “I can assure you that we were not involved in any attack.”

The mages all stared at one another for many tense heartbeats. Finally Antimodes sighed. “Stand down,” he ordered those around him. “Can't you see they look as worn as us?” He then turned to Raistlin and Creven. “Come in,” he said and waved for them to follow him into the tavern. “We have much to discuss...”

The archmage and Creven entered the Wizard's Hat and came face to face with not just the three wizards that had greeted them, but over a dozen. The smell of blood and oozing wounds was heavy in the air as was the sound of groans, coughing, and ragged breathing.

“By the Goddess!” Creven gasped and rushed to the aid of a wizard he knew well laying huddled on the floor. Blood soaked bandages covered the individual so much so that Raistlin had no idea what gender or race they were.

“What happened?” Raistlin asked, seeing the extent of injuries.

“Wayreth was attacked,” Antimodes said gravely. “We drove off the forces but sustained heavy casualties.... I brought those that I could transport here in hopes of finding aide as well as answers...”

“How many are left at Wayreth?” Raistlin asked.

“Too many. And some of those that are injured there are in far worse shape...” Antimodes sighed heavily.

“I need to get him to the Temple,” Creven said after assessing his friends wounds.

Raistlin nodded, for in his eyes, many of the wounded already looked dead to him, their skin necrotizing in places as he watched. The wounds spoke heavily of curse magic.

“Are you able to teleport there?” he asked Creven.

“I can take one,” the red robe replied. “I will return with help soon,” he added, locking eyes with Antimodes.

The other man nodded wearily.

Swiftly Creven disappeared with his charge.

“We have been trying to contact someone within the Tower here,” Anitmodes said once the two mages were gone. “No one is responding and none of us have recovered enough to risk the Grove... We feared the worst – that perhaps Palanthas had been hit as well.”

“It has been,” Raistlin confirmed. “Though I am myself just learning the details,” he added and indicated to the older mage that they continue their conversation outside.

Antimodes followed Raistlin out the front of the abandoned tavern. Once they were several feet away the Archmage of Solinari was the first to break the silence. “I take it you were not here at the Tower then?”

Raistlin turned back to the white-robe and studied him a moment while he considered how to respond. The older man's face was careworn and bore deep lines of fatigue; as a result the aging of his features was accelerated under Raistlin's curse. The archmage didn't personally know Antimodes well but he knew that this man had, long ago, found Raistlin as a small boy and had seen something within him. Anitmodes had sponsored the youth and paid for much of Raistlin's tutelage out of his own pocket. Because of this, Raistlin was able to attend Theobald's magic school near Solace and as a result he owed nearly everything to Antimodes. He had never been able to repay him, except for saving the mages as a whole all those years ago when Wayreth was under attack by Soth's forces.

Antimodes hadn't outright refused to allow Yurielle to exist. But neither did he support her. So Raistlin had to ask himself how much he still felt he owed the old man. Were the years of paying for his schooling, to vouch for him when no one else would, enough to forgive him his rigid stance against what Yurielle and the wild magic meant?

Finally, his mind made up, Raistlin responded, “No. No, Yurielle and I were elsewhere attending to other matters,” he said. “We returned only a short while ago to find that the Tower was on lock down. Not even I can teleport inside. Creven and I were on our way to enter when we came across you.”

“You have means to enter?” the other mage asked.

“Yes,” Raistlin returned. “Those remaining within sent means in which to enter. Creven has been recovering at the Temple of Paladine and they visited him there this morning. Thankfully, whoever assaulted the towers either didn't know he was at the Temple or they know better than to go up against clerics of the Light.”

Antimodes made a noncommittal grunt and paused beside a pillar under the overhang of an adjacent building. Grime and filth covered the walls and windows so that it was hard to know what kind of place it had once been.

“Perhaps the Tower here was not hit as hard _because_ of how close you are to the Temple of Paladine,” he said gravely.

“What do you mean?” Raistlin asked.

Antimodes turned to the younger man, the lines on his face seemed to deepen, as did the despair in his eyes. “There were hundreds of them,” he began quietly. “Hundreds and hundreds of undead that swarmed into the Tower.”

“How did they get inside?”

“They were let in...” Anitmodes seemed to be having trouble speaking, his knuckles were white as he gripped the pillar next to him.

“Who let them in?” Raistlin asked, though he feared he already knew the answer.

Antimodes didn't have a chance to respond, for at that moment the two mages heard the clopping of horse hooves and the sound of wheels on pavement. Turning, they both saw several long carts pulled by white horses heading in their direction. The first of which was driven by a cleric with Creven and Lady Crysania beside him.

The carts hadn't even come to a halt before clerics were already jumping over the sides and entering the Wizard's Hat.

“That was fast,” Raistlin said when the red-robe had made his way off the cart.

“Speed was of the essence,” the man replied, helping the Revered Daughter down.

Crysania regarded the two mages and looked as though she would say something but Antimodes cut her off, “Pleasantries can wait, Lady Crysania. Go do Paladine's will!”

She bowed slightly before rushing off after her fellow clerics, disappearing into the old tavern. It only took a few moments before several reappeared through the doorway, carrying the injured to the carts.

“You have my deepest thanks, Creven,” Antimodes said honestly.

“Such death is senseless,” the man replied as if it were less than obvious.

“Indeed,” Raistlin agreed. “I trust that you will be able to assist the Revered Daughter in this task?

“You have my word, archmage,” Creven said then turned to the white-robe. “You as well, Antimodes. Our differences pale in comparison to what is happening.”

The elderly man could only nod. He looked exhausted and on verge of collapsing himself. But, instead of joining his mages within the tavern he said, “I trust you will care for them.” His attention returned to Raistlin. “With your permission, archmage, I believe that you and I should continue our conversation elsewhere.”

Raistlin nodded. “Come, Antimodes, I shall take you through the Grove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/4/20: I hope this was a good resolution to the cliffhanger of last week :)  
> 


	5. Nightson

Dalamar, having been alerted via chime that someone (or something) had just entered the Shoikan Grove, exited the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. He strode across the barren courtyard with purpose. His demeanor was watchful and poised, betraying none of the concerns that warred within him. It had been a long, sleepless night and the dark elf was prepared for yet another.

Raistlin Majere had named him Master of the Tower in his absence and already Dalamar felt that he had failed in protecting it and those within.

By Nuitari, he would not do so again!

 _'Let the dead come,'_ the elf thought darkly, his robes swirling around him as he made his way to where he would make his stand; one that could very well be his last.

Not only had Dalamar been appointed by the Highmage to be in charge but he was also the most qualified to deal with this foe, for he had learned much from his Shalafi on necromancy and the ways of both controlling and destroying undead.

Even so, if this new wave of enemies was as plentiful as they had been last night, Dalamar was not certain that he could hold out against them for very long.

But by the gods, he would take as many down as need be before they dared breach the Tower again! For inside it the other appointed members of the new Conclave remained behind, ready as backup in case he failed in facing this new threat. They did not like it, but Dalamar had used his new authority and ordered them all to stay back until he had identified - and hopefully dealt with - this new menace.

He paused finally, stopping midway between the Tower and the ruined gates and watched for any sign of what had triggered his chime. The fog at the foot of the twisted trees outside the gate continued to writhe and swirl, the early spring breeze tugged at the dark elf's cloak but failed to touch the dead branches.

Nothing touched those branches.

Nothing moved the fog.

The fog moved on its own and the branches did as they pleased.

The Shoikan Grove was a dark place, a deadly place, and could easily drive a simple-minded person to madness.

But Dalamar Argent – turned Nightson to honor his god and the magic that the deity gifted him – was far from simple-minded.

Years of study and practice allowed Dalamar to reign in his anxieties as the moments wore on. The Grove, or even what he was about to face, had no power over him and he would deal with them both unafraid.

Just as his Shalafi had taught him.

Dalamar was disciplined, having learned at the side of one of the greatest archmages of all time and would not allow his self-doubts or fears to get in the way of what he must do to protect the Tower.

No, he wasn't afraid, but he did allow himself a self-deprecating smirk as we waited.

Here he was, a dark elf cast out of his own society, apprentice to the most powerful mage of this era, defending a Tower that wasn't even his and standing guard for those that were not of his own Order. All for the cause of one woman and her strange magic. On top of it all, her magic was one that the gods themselves deemed necessary to return to the world after eons of absence among mortals.

This by far was the weirdest thing the universe had ever put in front of him and Dalamar the Dark both enjoyed and loathed the challenge. It was even better than the recent changes to the ways of magic that had existed for years uncounted; for he knew first hand that the Order of High Sorcery had indeed become stagnant. The magic felt off for its users and its restructuring all boiled down to a woman that he had once wooed; had once been - if he allowed himself to be completely honest - quite enamored with.

Yurielle was a human, yes, but a beautiful one. She was odd, quirky even, with her silly habits and care-free attitude. She was quite the opposite of what one would find within a well-bred elven female. Perhaps this is why she had at first captivated him so; just as she had done with many males (and probably several females) during her time at Wayreth. However, like Dalamar, the other mages quickly came to realize that her oddness ran deeper than her habits and personality. The woman radiated something different, something borderline off-putting when it came to magic.

There was something not quite right about Yurielle.

Most wizards could sense it - like an unreachable itch or a smell that you couldn't locate the source of. To just be near Yurielle for extended periods of time became frustrating, for you found that you could not figure out what was wrong (with her or you!) and that was what was most galling; her very presence made you question yourself. Made you question your abilities, your sanity.

Nothing about her made sense!

Their sad attempt at romance hadn't lasted long, mere short weeks in fact. She was innocent then, that much was obvious to the already experienced dark elf. Despite this, Yurielle didn't hesitate to show affection. Memories of her kiss and tongue still, to this day, entered Dalamar's thoughts. In the time since he hadn't met another who had such skills, not even Jenna. However pleasant that mouth of hers was, the words that came out of it proved to be just as weird as her mannerisms.

Often the things that Yurielle said made no sense to most people, for they were either a silly play on words or observations that more often than not left one more confused than educated. She definitely saw things differently, that much was something Dalamar quickly learned during their short courting.

Dalamar still couldn't - for the absolute life of him! - figure out why his Shalafi had become so quickly enamored with her. They were complete opposites. Like oil and water, they simply shouldn't mix. Yet somehow they did! The two mages complimented one another perfectly and it was astonishing to see this unfold in real life.

Yurielle brought Raistlin Majere out of his dark shell. Somehow she made the stoic human laugh and smile – something Dalamar never could. She gave Raistlin the chance to _try_ to be human. And what was most astonishing to the elf was that Raistlin seemed to finally embrace his humanity. Dalamar had been the archmages apprentice for several years and the elf knew that as time had gone on, the golden-skinned human had drifted farther and farther into the dark current of magic and ambitions. Humanity had fallen to the side in Raistlin Majere's quest for ultimate power.

It hadn't taken the companionship of a handsome, exiled Silvanesti elf to change the Master of the Past and Present.

No, it took someone as bizarre as Yurielle to do it.

In contrast, Raistlin gave Yurielle a purpose; something Dalamar had known the woman did not have in her life. Being lied to by the Conclave, told her weirdness was a fault in her magic, had dampened her spirit during the time she had been outcast from others. Raistlin had given her the chance to break free and spread her wings.

And the world was changing because of it.

Yes, they were opposite, but they fit perfectly together in the weirdest way possible. And these changes Dalamar saw grow in his Shalafi because of their union was something that he knew he would never have been able to bring about!

Perhaps he was a tad jealous?

Dalamar shook his head and scoffed to himself. No, he had told Raistlin the truth when he said he was enjoying the show as a spectator. It simply was too much fun to watch the weird woman turn his Shalafi's world upside down and fill his black tower with singing and laughter! Dalamar recalled those first days when Raistlin had been so perplexed and irritated by her mystery that the apprentice felt like he was walking on eggshells in his attempt to avoid drawing his ire.

Dalamar did not envy his Master, for he was sure that only Raistlin Majere could handle the woman known as Yurielle.

Only Raistlin could deal with that fiery temper, one that rivaled the archmages own.

 _'Gods of the Black Pantheon, that woman!'_ Dalamar smirked in memory of their spats, for Yurielle's temper when aroused was a sight to behold! She was not one to back down from an argument and as a result, their few fights had become something of a gossip starter at the Tower. No one expected her to act like that and no one thought anyone could ruffle the usually calm dark elf.

But again, there just was something not quite right about Yurielle. She brought out the opposite in every situation or used the opposite to calm it or move it along for the best interest of all involved. To this day Dalamar had no idea how she did it!

Yes, there was far more to this strange woman than what meets the eye and he was sure that only Raistlin Majere was able to handle her.

The spring wind played through Dalamar's hair and it brought to mind how Yurielle had once run her fingers through it. As a result, memories of their short courtship played through the dark elf's mind for a few moments longer and he gave a resigned sigh.

The universe was strange indeed if their paths had led up to this moment!

Dalamar continued to scan the slowly undulating fog on the other side of the gate. The darkness beneath the trees revealed nothing.

Perhaps it was a false alarm?

No, he reminded himself. His wards were flawless, his alarms perfect. _Something_ had triggered them. Something was coming.

But it sure was taking its sweet time!

The barrier Dalamar had erected stood just feet in front of him, between himself and the gate. All he had to do was reach out and he could touch its rippling surface. Dalamar nearly did, so proud of it was he. It was true that the other members of the Conclave had helped in its creation. Geldwyn and Triandal were skilled mages in their own right, but it had been Dalamar to shape the final spell's result.

It had been one of the black robes to use the freely given power of the other two Orders to weave a complex barrier around the shields and wards already around the Tower. Not only had Dalamar strengthened those wards, but the dark elf had improved them.

Perhaps, he let himself admit, it worked a little too well.

The barrier kept magic out just as efficiently as it kept magic inside. No one could teleport through it, no one could teleport out of it. Messages and other means to get word in and out of the Tower was impossible and any scrying to see within would fail. It was a perfect cocoon of magic, woven out of the finest threads of power.

But... it did have its flaws.

The exact reason of _why_ the barrier was good was also why it was defective. It left those within utterly blind. Still, Dalamar Nightson was pleased with himself. And he was sure that his Shalafi would be pleased to see him weave spells with such skill.

The elf focused his thoughts once more on his vigil, for he was the Tower's eyes and ears now. He was its first line of defense and the dark elf tensed a bit in anticipation. However, after many more minutes, nothing still stepped out from the Grove and he forced himself to relax again.

No undead or monsters came rushing out, no ghouls or zombies moaned for warm flesh. Much to his growing annoyance. But to his credit, it _had_ been a long night. There was only so much patience in the world after hours of cleansing the Tower and ensuring its continued safety.

Dalamar was a level-headed, practical elf and his long life had taught him to recognize when his thoughts and emotions were straying. A life lead in servitude had taught him many skills and patience was one of them. However, it hadn't been the servitude itself to teach him this. It had been the long, slow wait to escape it that had taught the elf to bide his time.

So bide his time he would. Even if he stood here all day and waited.

The practical elf also recognized that not only did he need to get control of his growing impatience, but also that he needed to let go of any expectations of what may happen today. Dalamar knew what he wanted out of life but through his long years, he had also developed a deeply ingrained feeling that he should know what to expect out of his hard work.

Despite what most elves preached the world was not black and white, its motions could not be guessed.

“ _Be prepared for anything, and the outcome will be within your grasp,”_ the words of his Shalafi echoed through his mind.

Dalamar thought he had understood the lesson then, but that ingrained feeling that he knew what to expect was not so easily changed.

He had once thought the Tower's defenses perfect. He had thought that nothing could breach its walls.

But he had so much to learn yet.

Thankfully Dalamar the Dark had managed to learn humility at the Hourglass Mage's side.

The Silvanesti elf knew that he thought he was prepared last night... But he was wrong. Last night he had failed. He had failed his Order, he had failed his Shalafi. Yes, he had even failed his god.

Dalamar swore then that he would no longer outright dismiss or even insist on expecting any one specific thing to walk out of that fog. Because if there was one thing the dark elf knew and understood keenly now was that the universe loved nothing more than to throw the unexpected at him.

It rubbed against his elven instincts, but Dalamar was a fast learner. And he had many examples to dissect as proof that expecting one thing but getting another was usually better (and sometimes worse) than what outcome you had originally envisioned.

Just look at where he was now.

His thoughts then went to when Yurielle walked out of her Test wearing black robes and how it had shattered everyone's preconceived notions about what they thought they knew about the magic and how one's Order was chosen.

It was a flaw at the heart of the magehood - to have such high expectations for the novices about to enter an Orders ranks. Like his ingrained tendencies to think he knew what to expect, Dalamar saw that the magehood was also too sure of how things were and should always be. And when things ended up being different, the ripples that marred the glassy surface of the way things had always been suddenly grew to become large indeed. For the chaos that change brought was like a tsunami on a lake.

Yurielle probably didn't even understand how big of a ripple she had caused in the Orders of High Sorcery that day, for everyone had taken notice of the event. Every wizard within the tower, or even those that had close connections to it, were confused by this woman suddenly taking a side she had no business being part of.

Many black-robes, Dalamar included, were shocked (and some offended) that she _dare_ wear those robes! Many felt like it was a joke at first - that she really _had_ gone off her rocker! Or perhaps one of her curse-breaking attempts had finally done her in?!

But no, it soon became quite apparent that Yurielle indeed was meant to walk the path lit only by the black moon.

It ended up isolating her even more than she had been before.

By that time Dalamar had already moved on from Wayreth, he had already become Raistlin Majere's apprentice and had quickly learned how to be a double agent for both sides. He had other things more important to deal with than keeping up with an old flame of his, even though he did enjoy hearing the gossip of matters and goings-on at Wayreth that were the result of her and her weirdness.

Soon, however, Yurielle no longer mattered to him and he had completely forgotten about her existence. But Dalamar could never - not in a thousand years! - have known that he would find himself in this predicament because of her!

 _'Yes, do not think you know what will be the result of so many ripples,'_ Dalamar reminded himself. ' _The universe always had other plans for you!'_

Dalamar sighed then, resigned to waiting, as nothing continued to appear from the Grove.

Yes, this was not the place he had ever thought he'd find himself. Yes, he owed his knowledge to a human and his power to an evil god of the arcane. But the black-robe knew in his heart that he would have it no other way.

So stand here and defend the Tower he would, with his last breath if need be.

Dalamar Nightson was no longer considered a Silvanesti elf by the rest of his people. He had given his soul to Nuitari when no other gods would listen to his prayers. For this, he was cast out from his homeland and eventually given the dangerous task to spy on the most powerful mage in this age. Now here he was, this was the path he had found himself on.

His ex-flame was now his Shalafi's lover. The Hourglass Mage was a crystallized soul who on another timeline had become a god. Dalamar himself was now Head of the Order of Black Robes at the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas.

And wild magic was back in the world.

If he wasn't living these events, the dark elf would think them kender tales!

 _'Yes, never think you expect to know what will happen!'_ Dalamar smirked to himself, how un-Silvanesti of him!

Finally, he brought his mind fully back to the present as he waited, letting all other thoughts and memories fall away. He had to focus and stay alert; his dark, almond-shaped eyes scanned the treeline once more for any changes.

There!

On the path, he could definitely see shadows forming within the mist. His hand went to his spell component pouch, his mind already reciting the words to spells that would destroy anything that would appear. _'Don't just expect undead,'_ he reminded himself. _'Expect anything!'_

Dalamar held his breath as the shadows became more solid, taking shape and separating themselves from the mist as they approached the gate.

“Be at ease, apprentice. It is only I.”

Dalamar nearly swooned with relief when the voice of his Shalafi echoed to him through the mist. A heartbeat later Raistlin Majere appeared from the fog and next to him, leaning heavily on the Hourglass Mage, stumbled an elderly wizard wearing white robes.

Without hesitation, the dark elf rushed forward as the gates swung open to allow the Master of Past and Present to enter. “Shalafi!” Dalamar breathed as he approached, his eyes wide as he took in the state of his master. “You are wounded!”

Raistlin grunted under the weight of his charge. “So is he! Quit gaping at us and help me!” he snapped.

Dalamar helped the archmage remove the white-robes arm from around his neck. Antimodes was barely conscious, his face pale and covered in sweat. No wonder it had taken so long to traverse the Grove! Raistlin was practically carrying the comatose man all by himself.

The dark elf frowned at this, for if his Shalafi hadn't used magic to aid him in his endeavor, then that meant that they had run into problems outside the barrier.

“I take it he didn't enjoy walking the Grove?” Dalamar rhetorically asked as he got a better hold of the elder mage.

“No,” Raistlin replied, rubbing his sore neck. Using the Staff of Magius for support he attempted to stand taller but gasped and clutched at his ribs when the movement caused pain to lance through his body.

“Get him inside!” he ordered through clenched teeth.

Dalamar took one last look at the writhing mist along the path that they had just walked. There was no sign of Yurielle. He gave Raistlin a questioning glance, one that conveyed more worry for the woman than the dark elf cared to admit.

“She is safe,” Raistlin said, beginning to stagger his way to the Tower. “I left her at the Temple of Paladine.”

The answer was good enough for Dalamar.

“Do you have means to cross the barrier?” he took a moment to ask before proceeding.

Raistlin was eyeing the magical weave between them and the Tower. “Yes,” he said with a nod. “Creven provided us means.”

Without asking anything else, Dalamar looped the white-robes arm around his neck and half dragged, half carried the elderly man towards the Tower.

Together the three passed through the barrier. It shimmered slightly as the stones they each carried created a bubble that canceled out the effect of the new spell, allowing them safe passage through.

“Clever work, apprentice,” Raistlin admitted once they were on the other side. He glanced at the stone in his palm, it was a dull gray color now, all magic having been spent.

The elf could not help but feel a glow of pride spread through his being at his master's praise. “It has been my life's honor to study under a great teacher,” was all he replied as the three continued up the walkway to the Tower.

Raistlin opened the door and was greeted by a wall of mages, all ready to defend his domain.

“Highmage!” Sisne was the first to collect her wits when recognition set in that they did not face an undead. Though the thought did cross her mind - right now Raistlin could almost be mistaken for something undead, so gaunt and pale was he.

“Archmage Antimodes!” another white-robe exclaimed and rushed forward to help Dalamar with bringing the older man into the Tower.

“What happened, Highmage?” Triandal asked, moving aside and letting Dalamar and the others through.

Raistlin bristled at this new title everyone insisted on using for him. “Yurielle and I have returned successfully,” he said, his voice grating with both irritation and pain. “But, it seems we have come back to an even bigger problem.”

“Where _is_ Yurielle?” Sisne asked still standing in the doorway, her eyes scanning the dark path through the Grove as she waited for her friend.

“At the Temple,” Raistlin grunted. “She was in need of healing.”

“As are you,” Geldwyn observed sagely. Gently, he offered his arm to the younger man. “Come, archmage. Let us get you comfortable. Then we can sort through what is going on.”

Sisne lingered at the door, obviously torn between following and going to her friend.

Raistlin put an end to internal struggle when he said, “She is in dire need of rest, Sisne. The clerics gave her a sleeping potion. Hopefully, she will be asleep for many hours.”

The petite woman nodded and closed the door behind herself.

Reluctantly Raistlin took her brother's offered arm and with the white-robes aid, followed his fellow mages into the heart of the Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/12/20: Originally this was going to be the beginning part of the next chapter but I decided that Dalamar needed a moment to shine on his own. I hope it was a good decision to separate the chapters like this and that you enjoyed the snippet into the dark-elf's thoughts.  
> Thanks again and see you next week!  
> As always, I do not own the pictures used in the collage, I found them on Pinterest.... so many hours on Pinterest xD


	6. Events Retold

Many minutes later Raistlin was seated at one of the tables in the mess hall. Antimodes had come to consciousness enough to be aware of where he was and now reclined on a lounge brought down from one of the bedrooms. The walk through the Grove had been difficult for him in his injured state, even with the Master of the Tower walking beside him. After a short rest and some food, he was still pale but a few sips of wine soon brought a sense of calm back to him as well as color to his age-spotted face.

“So, archmage,” Raistlin said to Antimodes once everyone was present and seated. “Tell us, if you can, of what has happened at Wayreth.”

Antimodes cleared his throat, the act causing him to cough slightly. After a moment, and another sip of wine, he said, “I would assume that it happened much the same as it did here. But it seems,” he eyed the mages around him, “that you fared far better than us.”

“The battle against the horde was intense,” Geldwyn said from where he sat beside Antimodes, “but thankfully not long. The chime in the Grove gave us some warning that something approached.”

“A good addition to the Tower's defenses.” Raistlin nodded to Dalamar. “Had I thought of such a thing sooner, we would have been better prepared for the Conclave the last time.”

Dalamar shrugged. “I thought of it after you left. You may have put me in charge, but I lack the familiarity and senses that a Master of the Tower has when it comes to their domain.”

This comment made Antimodes frown unhappily. “Even then, dark elf, a Tower's Master cannot foresee betrayal from within.”

“You are now Highmage at Wayreth?” Geldwyn asked, turning to the other white-robed man.

Antimodes nodded as he took another sip of wine. “Yes,” he confirmed. “After you left, and after some semblance of order returned to those of us remaining at Wayreth, swift decisions were made. However, some proved to be our undoing.”

“Tell us, Master Antimodes,” Triandal implored gently, “what happened after we left?”

The elderly man set his wine glass down on a nearby table. It was hard to miss the slight tremble in his hand, one that was not brought on by his age. “Your illusion spell was magnificent,” he began, his attention on Raistlin. “It fooled us all. By the time we realized it was fake, you were long gone.”

“I do hope none were hurt,” Sisne said, echoing Yurielle's fears before Raistlin could answer.

Antimodes shook his head. “A few bruised knees and much damaged pride when we realized what was going on... But other than that, no, no one was injured. A few of the children were terrified and it took some time to calm them, but that was the worst of the outcome.”

“The children!” one of the other white-robes exclaimed. “Are they alright?”

Antimodes patted the air with his hands in a soothing motion. “Yes, dear. None were at the Tower when the undead arrived. Thank Solinari for this one small mercy...”

Many mages sighed in relief. Even Raistlin felt a small tendril of fear that he didn't even realize he held uncoil inside of him. The very thought that the youngest trainees of magic had been there during this time would have been a tragedy worse than what the magehood was already facing. If the next generation were lost...

“Continue then, Highmage,” Raistlin said, trying not to think about the worst-case scenario. “Tell us what happened next.”

“In the hours after you disappeared a new Council meeting was held,” Antimodes said. “We chose new Heads and I was chosen to be Highmage, taking Par-Salian's place as Master of Wayreth.”

“Who was chosen for the other heads?” Dalamar asked.

“Lillimora for the red-robes and Mourok for the black,” he replied, his face darkening. “Thus was chosen our downfall.”

“Mourok,” Raistlin hissed, already assuming the worst but feigned ignorance. “I did not see him among the injured at the Wizard's Hat. Did he stay behind?”

Anitmodes shook his head. “No,” he replied, his voice low. “After the undead surged through the halls of Wayreth he left, for he had no more reason to stay.”

“Why is that?” Triandal asked, oblivious.

“He was the one to let them inside,” the white-robed Highmage replied.

There were several audible gasps at this.

“How dare he!” growled Brishen, his ire was reflected on the other black-robes' faces, including Raistlin's.

“I'm afraid that it is true,” Antimodes said. “He and several others opened portals from which the undead came. We had no warning, no indication that anything was happening....” his voice trailed off and his eyes became unfocused as he remembered. “Many fell in those first few moments of confusion. The hallways were clogged with rotting corpses...”

“Why would he do this?” Triandal asked. “For what purpose?”

Reaching into a bag at his side, Antimodes pulled forth a broken mask in the shape of a black skull. The mask was designed to cover the wearers head and hide their faces down to their mouth. This mask was damaged, the cranium splintered open indicating that the death blow had come from the back of the head. One eye was open for the wearer to see out of while within the other glittered a dark green stone. The stone too was broken; split down the middle and still oozing black ichor from inside.

“He did not act alone,” Antimodes said as he held the object gingerly in his fingers as if it pained him. “We managed to kill three of his accomplices. They all were wearing one of these. ”

“What does it mean?” Dalamar asked, taking the mask from Antimodes and grimacing as strange, unnatural cold radiated through his hands. Due to his years of study under Raistlin, the dark elf was familiar with necromancy, but this was something different.

This was something... _unholy_.

Quickly Dalamar set the broken mask on the table nearby where all could see. He looked to Raistlin and paused, for the golden-skinned man was pale, his eyes wide.

“Shalafi?” Dalamar asked, fighting the urge to wipe his hands on his robes to rid himself of the unsettling feeling that touching the skull had given him.

Raistlin blinked several times and wiped his forehead with his hand to find that a light sheen of perspiration had gathered there. He was alarmed to realize that he was shaking. “Did they say anything?” he asked, his voice hoarse as he looked to Antimodes for the answer.

The elder man shook his head gravely. “Those that were killed, their bodies instantly turned to ash. At the moment of death, the gem within the eye would crack, unleashing the spell that would destroy the body, making it impossible to investigate the identities or purpose of the individuals. Only the masks remained as grim, dark reminders.”

Dalamar continued to study his master's disturbed visage. He waited until the Highmage tore his eyes from the mask and met his. Master and former apprentice shared a look and the dark elf saw the truth in Raistlin's eyes.

The magic _was_ unholy! It wasn't just necromantic in nature; it was far, far worse. But from where did such unnatural power come from?

There could be only one explanation...

“You've seen this before?” Dalamar asked softly when Raistlin finally looked at him. “Are Yurielle's suspicions of who is leading these mages correct?”

Raistlin nodded, his golden face was pale and drawn.

“Who?” Antimodes demanded. “Who is responsible for this slaughter?!”

“Fistandantilus,” Raistlin said, meeting the other mage's gaze and all saw within those cursed, hourglass orbs, a sense of dread caused by the things he had seen that haunted him still.

Antimodes' jaw dropped. His eyes darted from the knowing faces of the mages around him back to Raistlin's. “How do you know this?” he asked, sitting forward. “You are connected to him! Do you know of his motives?” His eyes grew dark. “Are you part of this plan?!” he shrieked in anger and attempted to stand. But he was weaker than he thought and his legs buckled, causing him to collapse.

“I can assure you, Highmage,” Raistlin began slowly, his voice soft as several white robes went to assist the elder. It was obvious that even though they had sided with Raistlin, their respect for the other Highmage ran deep as they helped Antimodes back onto the lounge.

“I have nothing to do with this,” he continued once the other man was settled. “It is true, as you well know, I _was_ attached to the archlich since my Test.”

“Was...?” Antimodes repeated the word.

“It is where Yurielle and I have returned from - the quest to free me from him,” Raistlin explained.

“You were successful then, archmage?” Sisne asked, her voice held a hopeful note. It was one that would be touching to Raistlin if he wasn't still reeling from all these other events that had transpired.

“Yes,” he replied, his golden eyes went to his lover's best friend. “I have been freed from his grasp, but,” he shuddered visibly, unable to stop himself, “the cost was high.”

“Tell me!” Antimodes demanded, again sitting forward, bracing himself up so that he didn't fall again.

Raistlin's gaze darted to Antimodes like a gold knife slicing through the tension in the room. “You will not like what I am about to tell you. But it is the truth. All of it, I swear,” Raistlin said grimly.

A heavy silence fell, none dared question him.

“Tell us, Shalafi,” Dalamar prompted. “Tell us what happened at Skullcap.”

“Skullcap?!” Antimodes blinked, taken aback.

“By the light of all three moons, may they stand as my witness!” Raistlin rasped and was forced to stop and cough. Once recovered, he continued, “Yurielle and I traveled to that dreaded place, yes and this was why we were not here when the undead attacked.”

“Skullcap...” Antimodes breathed again and could not suppress a shudder. “You must have a death wish if you traveled to that foul place.”

Raistlin merely shrugged. “Not a death wish,” he said. “But a life wish I suppose you could say.” He smirked slightly, for he knew Yurielle would have liked that statement. “One to finally live as myself, to be master of my own destiny.” Raistlin reached into the satchel at his side and drew out the dark blue book of Fistandantilus and took note of how the binding hurt his hand to touch it.

Ignoring this, he placed the book next to the mask. “I took this from Wayreth,” he said. “I found it in Par-Salian's study, along with the book I left with you. Within its pages are details that have not been read since they were penned countless years ago. Within it, Fistandantilus writes on how he used a piece of his own body as a phylactery to house his soul.”

“A piece of his body?” Antimodes asked. “Such a thing is not possible!”

“No indeed,” Raistlin admitted, for it sounded like madness. “I would have said as much myself. But, I assure you, Highmage,” he continued, his lip curling into a derisive sneer, “Fistandantilus was successful in his attempt. He did not know it at the time, not until he finally died, that he did the impossible.”

“It makes sense,” Sisne said, her finger on her chin as she pondered. “We have often questioned how Fistandantilus was able to anchor his presence so strongly. Yes, he has created other, smaller phylacteries... but none of them seem to reflect how powerful he truly is. It's only logical that he used a piece of his body to anchor his soul to the material plane. So you found this item?”

Raistlin nodded. “We did.”

“What was it?” Antimodes asked.

“Can you not guess?” Raistlin returned and motioned towards the broken mask on the table. Its dark surface seemed to suck all light from the room.

There were several startled gasps. Antimodes starred at the damaged mask for many long heartbeats until his eyes finally returned to Raistlin. “Fistandantilus used his own skull as a home for his soul?”

“It would seem so, yes,” Raistlin said wearily. “Within it, somehow, he created another plane that held his being. From there, he was able to extend himself, possibly through his other phylacteries, to influence the world around him through the years. Somehow, he still existed at Wayreth, possibly reaching out from his Skull through the ethereal plane to draw on victims to sustain himself.”

“Thus how he anchored to you...” Antimodes finished, finally understanding.

Raistlin nodded and, sitting back in his chair, rubbed at his eyes.

“Why attach to you though?” Antimodes asked, drawing Raistlin's attention back to him. “What makes you so special? Forgive me, archmage, but I don't see how you were the one, after the gods know how many deaths, that the lich attached to instead of outright killing during your Test.”

Dalamar met his Shalafi's gaze, as did Geldwyn, Triandal, Sisne, and all the others that had come to stand on Raistlin and Yurielle's side. They all knew the reason, for Raistlin had told them of how he was a splintered off piece of Fistandantilus' very own soul.

“You do not have to tell him,” Dalamar said before turning back to Antimodes, his gaze hardening. “We have come to accept the reality and reasons,” he declared. “But not all seem to be as understanding about such things...”

“I may know more than you suspect,” Antimodes shot back and reached into his own satchel. After a moment he drew out the large white leather book and placed it on the table beside the mask and the spellbook of Fistandantilus. “I have read it cover to cover,” he said after the book landed with a dull thud. “There are many mentions of you in there, Raistlin Majere. Par-Salian indeed took a great interest in you and your Test.”

“Indeed,” Raistlin inclined his head, “and I said as much when making my case at Wayreth. Par-Salian chose me to be the Conclave's instrument in the War. He thought that putting me through the Test at such a young age would forge me, same as he thought placing this curse upon me would soften me.”

“Was he wrong?” Antimodes asked.

Raistlin shrugged. “Par-Salian was wrong in more things than he was correct, for if you read the whole of that book, you then saw what it was that he had begun dabbling in.”

“Yes,” Antimodes hissed. “It is distressing to know that my dear friend had strayed so far. He paid for his actions in the end.”

“Oh, how I wish it were that simple...” Raistlin commented uneasily.

The tone in his voice caused many ears to listen in dread.

Raistlin held the elder mages gaze for many long moments. Finally, he spoke. When he did, his voice was soft and low, very much reminiscent of his old way of speaking before Yurielle's tinctures had improved his health. “You asked me what made me special,” he began. “Of why Fistandantilus would choose to latch onto me over another novice...”

Antimodes continued to stare at Raistlin without blinking, waiting for the young man to explain.

“It is because I am a piece of his soul,” Raistlin said flatly. “A piece that broke away when he died at Zhaman over one hundred years ago. I was reborn and he recognized me when I took my Test. He thought I would be the new body in which he would be reborn in, but in this, he was wrong.”

The white-robed archmage continued to stare at the golden-skinned one. Very slowly one of his eyebrows rose as Raistlin's word sunk in. “Explain.” Was the only word he uttered after several tense moments of silence.

Raistlin proceeded to tell Antimodes about everything that he and Yurielle had learned from Astinus. He explained the events of his own Test, of how the lich came to him and how the two struck a bargain. He explained the theory behind his skin and of how the link between himself and Fistandantilus had once been broken by the Dragon orb only to be reforged even stronger after the events beneath the Temple of Neraka.

He then began his tale of his and Yurielle's journey to Skullcap.

“We reached the bottom of the ruins,” he said, his voice by now had become hoarse from how long he had been talking, but his audience was still listening, entranced by his dark tale. “Yurielle used her magic to disable the seven faces of Nuitari and together, we entered the Chamber of Fistandantilus where once stood the Portal to the Abyss - the object of which was his destruction at the end of the Dwarfgate War. The portal was gone, but his Skull remained.”

“You found it then?” Dalamar dared to be the first to speak, breaking Raistlin's long story.

The archmage nodded wearily but added, “We did not so much as find it as it was brought to us.”

“Brought to you? By who?” Geldwyn asked.

Raistlin's eyes locked with Antimodes. “Par-Salian.”

The shock within the room was palpable. Many gasped out loud. Most just sat there, staring in open-mouthed disbelief at what they had just heard.

The two newly appointed Highmage's continued to gaze at one another. Raistlin's eyes were filled with challenge, daring Anitmodes to question him while Antimodes eyes reflected a complex war of emotions within.

Finally, after many moments of heavy silence, Antimodes spoke, “If it were not for the proof I read with my own eyes within that book,” he stabbed a finger at the white-leathered tome, “I would kill you where you sit, Raistlin Majere.” He began shaking and many thought it was from anger at the archmage's declaration. However, Antimodes' head soon fell into his hands, his shoulders sagged under a heavy weight.

“My friend...” he said brokenly into his palms, “what have you done?”

“I fear my tale is not yet finished,” Raistlin said, taking no joy in the other's sorrow nor his loss. “Par-Salian held the Skull in his hands and it very soon became obvious that he had suffered severe damage during the fight here weeks ago. He _should_ have been dead, but he was not. It would have been more merciful to die than to exist as what he had become.”

“And what was that, archmage?” Triandal asked, the elf's voice was taut with stress at hearing the full scope of the story.

“A puppet of Fistandantilus,” Raistlin replied darkly. “He willingly admitted that he gave himself to Fistandantilus in order to cleanse the world of magic-users like Yurielle. It was then that Fistandantilus came through, proving to us that the lich was indeed possessing Par-Salian. The man we all once knew was far gone by now. He was being kept alive by the archlich and used as a puppet. All that the lich needed was to sever the tie between him and myself and he would be able to reform using his skull and the body of Par-Salian.

“However,” Raistlin said wearily, “he still made one final attempt at taking control of me. For, as you can about imagine, he wants nothing more to be whole once again. To do so, he needs me and my part of our soul.”

“Why would he attempt to take you when it was obvious that he already had a more willing house to be reborn in?” Dalamar asked.

Raistlin shook his head slowly and ran his hand across his forehead. All this talk was making him light-headed and reliving the events was not helping. “Yurielle seems to think that I house something in my part of soul that Fistandantilus, because of his centuries of evil and leeching of life, no longer has access to. When Yurielle fell into the coma at Wayreth, Fistandantilus had attached to her and began to drain her life-essence. When he did, he recognized something within her... something placed there by-” Raistlin snapped his mouth shut. He had told the mages he trusted about the god his lover had named 'Raistlindantilus' - the being of destruction on an alternate timeline that was another version of him.

But did he want those at Wayreth knowing this as well?

He cleared his throat. “Apologies,” he said quietly. “I am weary and lose track of what it is I am saying...”

“You do look unwell, my Shalafi,” Dalamar said, seeing the look on Raistlin's face as well as understanding what it was that he had almost let slip. “Let us wrap this up so we may all digest it and find rest. How did you destroy the link between you and Fistandantilus? It would seem that you have succeeded in this endeavor.”

Raistlin nodded to his apprentice. “Yurielle, as you have read within Par-Salian's book,” he said, now looking at Antimodes, “had a twin sister that the former Conclave murdered when they were children. This twin, Ariallah, still exists on the other side, her own spirit being bound to this plane, for she too, is tied to Fistandantilus.”

Reaching out, Raistlin took hold of the full glass of wine that sat on the table next to him, not caring who it belonged to. Taking a small drink to both wet his throat as well as calm his nerves, he continued, “From her side of the weave, Ariallah took hold of the tether between myself and Fistandantilus. She somehow broke the tie and anchored the other half of it to the Skull. I was unconscious for all of this,” he said. “Or, more to the fact, I was fighting off the lich inside me, for you see, I had put on the Skull. But it was the only way that Ariallah could separate the two of us. The bond had to be stronger than ever in order for her to break it.”

“And break it she did?” Geldwyn asked.

“Yes,” Raistlin confirmed. “She broke the tether and fused Fistandantilus' whole essence to his Skull. It was then that Par-Salian came forward and took it.” Golden, cursed eyes once more locked on Antimodes. “Par-Salian then put on the Skull himself - thus giving Fistandantilus a means to be reborn.”

“Using his body?” Sisne gasped in horror.

“I'm afraid so,” Raistlin said with a shudder. “I did not see what happened. Only Yurielle did. But rest assured, she witnessed something that no mortal should ever see, and unfortunately, what happened next was even more horrifying than staring into the eyes of pure evil reborn...”

“...And that is...?” Antimodes asked, finally finding his voice after so long of being silent.

“Fistandantilus tore Ariallah's soul from the other side and made her physical again,” Raistlin said quietly, his voice trembled slightly, both at the memory and from the fatigue that was fast overwhelming him.

“For you see, Ariallah was once - in a lifetime long ago - Fistandantilus' first victim of the Bloodstone. I've seen it, for he showed me the memory while we were still connected,” Raistlin explained. “Fistandantilus murdered his master, his lover, and used her soul to ignite the power of the Bloodstone, thus forever tying them together just as effectively as I was bound to him.”

“Oh... Yurielle,” Sisne sobbed into her hands.

“Yes,” Raistlin sighed heavily. “She is beyond distraught over this fact. She not only witnessed my near death and possession after putting on the Skull, as well as the rebirth of Fistandantilus in Par-Salian's body, but she also saw her sister ripped from the other side and given unnatural life.”

“How is such a thing possible?” Antimodes asked, more to himself than to anyone else. He was merely voicing the question on everyone's minds.

Dalamar's dark eyes were again on the broken mask. The memory of the unholy magic still tingled in his fingertips. He clenched his fists beneath the table. “I believe you,” he said softly, his voice catching. “Whatever power Fistandantilus has... it is unlike anything we have ever seen before.”

The dark elf's eyes then darted to his fellow black robes. “The magic in that object,” he said, jerking his head to the mask, “is not natural. It does not resemble anything of Nuitari's gift...” His gaze met his Shalafi's.

Raistlin was eyeing him and had clearly noted the unsettling feeling that has come over his apprentice. “Indeed,” he whispered. “These spells are unlike any other necromancy ones that I have ever encountered. You are observant, Dalamar Nightson, for Nuitari does not seem to be fueling this magic...” His brow furrowed, clearly unsettled with the thought of what it might mean.

“How did you get out of there?” Jenna asked, finally speaking after a long silence had settled on the room.

“Yurielle used the remainder of her magic, and probably more, to Dimension Door us away,” Raistlin explained. “She claims the arcane gods themselves helped her by granting her one final request. Then, with her last spell-power, she got us to the place where we were staying. She saved me but had to choose between me or her twin... That too, I fear, was more than she could bear.”

Raistlin rubbed his forehead with his hand, his arm propped up on the armrest of his chair, and gave a weary sigh. The act of which irritated his injured ribs, causing him to cough violently. Dalamar instinctively moved to get up in order to find things to make his tea but Raistlin halted him. “I am fine,” he wheezed. “My lungs... they are not used to so much freedom.”

After Raistlin collected himself, he continued, “I awoke a few hours later. Yurielle had given me all of the health potions we had taken with and neglected to take any herself.” He frowned at the memory. “She was feverish and distraught so we made haste to return to Palanthas only to find the way to the Tower here barred. I then scryed on Lady Crysania and we instead teleported to the Temple in order to learn what had transpired here. Creven and I were on our way back to the Tower when we came across Antimodes and other survivors from Wayreth,” he said, turning to the elder mage once more. “Tell us, Highmage, the rest of what happened at Wayreth.”

“There is not much else to tell,” Antimodes said, fully stirring out of his stupor. “Once Mourok and his allies opened the portals to allow the undead in, we were quickly swarmed. We eventually were able to regroup and cleanse the Tower. Unfortunately, there were many casualties...” The white mage's eyes reflected his deep sorrow. “I took those that I could and came to Palanthas in hopes to find aid. When we found the Tower here shielded, we were forced to take shelter and find what rest we could. It was then that you came along, archmage,” he said to Raistlin, drawing the story to its full conclusion.

“Had we known of Wayreth's plight,” Triandal spoke up, “we would not have hesitated to come to your aid.”

“Would you have?” Antimodes asked, arching an eyebrow. “Even after everything that happened to your group there?”

“No one deserves to fight such forces alone,” the elf returned. “The fall of Wayreth would have spelled our own doom, as well as the magehood as a whole.”

Antimodes nodded in agreement. “In either case,” he continued, “you would have come to our aid, only to die with us.”

“How many did you bring?” Geldwyn asked. “And where are they?”

“We left them at the Wizard's Hat,” Raistlin answered. “Creven went to fetch the Revered Daughter and together they are taking care of the injured.”

“What of Wayreth?” asked Dalamar.

Antimodes sighed. “I know not what has transpired since I left. I pray that they have managed to survive this long.”

“We will provide what help we can,” Raistlin said and turned to those proven loyal to him. “Anyone with teleportation spells will report to the Temple. I will return with you and, with the Revered Daughter's blessing, you will take what clerics willing to go with back to Wayreth.”

“Why not bring them here?” Nyx asked. “This Tower has room.”

Raistlin regarded her coolly. “I will not risk putting everyone in one place. It would be foolish for us all to be where Fistandantilus can snuff us out in one stroke, for it seems that is what he wishes.”

The half-elf seemed chastised and nodded in agreement, seeing Raistlin's wisdom.

Raistlin, using the edge of the table for support, rose to his feet. “Let us go, we have no time to waste.” He turned to leave but found his legs would no longer support him. Dalamar appeared out of nowhere and caught his teacher before he collapsed to the floor.

“Rest, my Shalafi,” he said smoothly. “Leave it to us...”

Those were the last words Raistlin heard as consciousness slipped from his grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/18/20: Sorry if that was a tad bit of a boring chapter, but I felt it was necessary for everyone (even us readers) to get a bit of a run down and reminder of everything going on. Not to mention a few character perspectives.  
> Hope everyone is well and staying safe.


	7. Beneath the Brambles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this chapter comes with a trigger warning - references for alcoholism and addiction are to follow. ♥

The last couple of nights have been hell for Caramon Majere.

Whenever he lay down and closed his eyes - he saw his twin.

When he'd be alone in a quiet place - all he heard was Raistlin's pain-filled scream.

In the years since the end of the War (this spring being the sixth), Caramon was often faced with sleepless nights and stray thoughts of his black-robed brother.

He knew that Raistlin was gone, walking his own path of darkness, and Caramon had come to accept his brother's decisions. He told himself that his twin needed to live his own life...

But even knowing and coming to understand this didn't make it any easier.

In the hardest of times, Caramon's family would usually be enough to steer him back on track. His love for his wife and sons made him strong. _They_ needed his strength now, they needed his protection and his unconditional love. This reminder was once enough to pull Caramon from the despair that had plagued him in those first few years.

But not this spring.

This spring was different.

The nightmares came every night now and with them, the emptiness.

Lunitari's light shone through the window of the Majere house, one of the few to be rebuilt in up in the Vallenwoods after the dragons had nearly obliterated the town that fateful autumn when the Companions set out to change the world. The red light splashed across the rug on which Caramon sat, his eyes were on the intricate patterns woven by elves – it had been a wedding present from Tanis and Laurana – but those hazel-brown orbs did not register the beautiful designs of leaves and flowers, of twisting vines and ivy in pleasing, warm shades.

Instead, Caramon was seeing skulls.

Black, horrible skulls leering at him from the shadows. The red moon's light bathed them in crimson blood while their eyes burned sickly green with unnatural life. Sometimes they appeared to have chunks of rotting, golden skin falling from the bones. Sometimes they were on fire, like the skull Caramon had witnessed during his twin's Test of High Sorcery.

When Raistlin had murdered his image.

When their brotherly bond began to break and splinter...

Caramon squeezed his eyes shut to block out that painful memory. But there were just too many, too much uncertainty, too many questions. So many countless images were assaulting his senses lately that the big man thought that he was surely going insane. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as if he could smother the memories, suffocate them until they were dead and gone.

But the skulls only reared up faster; his brother's screams only echoed all the louder...

 _'Focus on Tika, focus on the boys...'_ he thought to himself for time uncounted, trying desperately to anchor himself. _'Raistlin is a powerful wizard. He chose his path and whatever is happening to him has nothing to do with me...'_ This had been his mantra, repeated over and over in the chill, dead of night for six long years.

But words had no meaning when his heart felt empty and lost.

If only he could numb it, drown his heart as thoroughly as it had been that day on the Blood Sea.

Caramon's eyes slowly opened to drift from the carpet that he did not see to the wall behind the bookshelf near the cold fireplace.

Yes, Raistlin was gone. He was gone and never coming back. His life was his. His choices were his own. Raistlin had decided his fate and Caramon had as well...

“Then why can't I stop thinking about him?” he whispered into the dark living room.

His eyes stared at the bookcase, boring through it to the little compartment behind where that small, dwarven made flask lay hidden.

Gods, he just wanted to forget!

His hands twitched in his lap, his palms were clammy with memory. Behind that bookcase was the only thing powerful enough to drown these thoughts...

No one would know if he just took one sip!

“Caramon?”

Tika's voice made him flinch; pulling him from the silent minutes spent fighting an internal struggle. Numb the pain and lose his family, or continue to resist and lose his mind...

“What are you doing out here?” Tika asked and Caramon could hear her coming down the hall.

She forgot about that loose board and it squeaked under her weight as she passed over it. “God's damn that board!” she grumbled under her breath.

Caramon still hadn't fixed it.

_'I can't fix anything...'_

“Caramon?” Tika asked again, now kneeling beside him within the blood-red heart of their home, lit thus by the moon outside.

“Yes?” he vacantly replied.

His wife's hand on his stubble-filled chin turned his face to hers. The crimson light of Lunitari shone for an instant in her green eyes.

Those undead gazes were now awash with blood, pulling him down, down, down...

Down into the Blood Sea.

So numb was Caramon that he didn't even react to the terrible vision.

“Caramon, what's wrong?” Tika's voice finally floated through the dark waters to reach him.

“Nothing, Tika,” he lied. “Just a bad dream.”

“You've been having a lot of those lately...” she commented softly as she ran her hand over his jaw, unable to keep the frown off her face. Caramon usually took great care to keep his physical appearance at least somewhat clean and presentable. But lately he had begun to let himself go again... Tika knew the signs, for they happened every spring.

Caramon only nodded in answer to her comment.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“What can I do to help you, Caramon?” Tika repeated. “I know that this time of year is hard on you...” she continued when his eyes finally seemed to focus on hers. “Memories of the War always surface around this time. Memories of... him,” she added hesitantly.

“He has a name,” Caramon said, his voice gruffer than he meant it to be.

“Yes,” Tika bristled, “yes, he has a name. God-cursed as it is!” she said hotly, drawing away.

“Tika...”

“No!” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She was wearing a light-blue nightgown edged in gray lace delicate as spider webs. Another gift from Laurana after the birth of Palin. The robe was soft and flowing; comfortable, and able to be opened to allow breastfeeding of a newborn without having to remove or fully open the whole garment. The ribbon holding the chest piece in place was poorly tied, telling Caramon that she had just finished feeding their youngest son.

What time was it? He wondered idly... for Caramon had no idea how long he had been out here and their son usually didn't need middle of the night feedings anymore.

“Are the dreams about him?” Tika asked then, drawing Caramon from his thoughts of their son.

The one that looked so much like a certain black-robed mage.

Caramon nodded slowly, just a small movement of his head.

His wife gave a long, drawn-out sigh. It wasn't an angry one, not anymore. Tika's anger with Raistlin had burned off long ago – or at least she had thought so. But still, she found herself able to loath the man.

“I think he's in trouble,” Caramon mumbled.

“He chose his life, Caramon,” Tika said. “And you've chosen yours.”

“Tika -”

“What is it going to be, Caramon?” she cut him off. “The memory of your brother, or us?”

The breath in the former warrior's lungs froze.

“What?” he breathed when he found his voice.

Tika's warm palms were on his face again, she knelt in front of him now and Lunitari's light shone brilliantly in her hair, enhancing the already fiery color. She was a blazing visage of love and compassion, of strength and determination.

“I love you, Caramon Majere,” she said, her usually strong voice was thick with emotion. “I've loved you and stood by your side for six years as your wife and mother of your children. Yes, we've had hard times,” she admitted and they both painfully recalled that first year, “but I thought we were passed them...”

“We are, Tika,” Caramon mumbled.

Her eyes darted to the bookshelf then came back to his.

“Are we?”

Caramon grimaced.

Of _course_ she knew.

“I haven't had any dwarf spirits since Tanin was born...”

“I know,” she said. “And I am proud of you for resisting that foul drink. But what about the wine?” she asked, her face serious yet still somehow keeping that soft look of compassion she was known for. “What about the ale?”

Caramon lowered his eyes and Tika dropped her hands away from his face to fall heavily into her lap.

After many minutes of tense silence, she said yet again, “I love you, Caramon Majere, so I've said nothing of the other flasks I've found because I know that you've been able to control yourself with them. But they've been empty more than full as of late... I'm... I'm worried.” Her voice hitched.

The big man lowered his head into his hands and took a shuddering breath. “He's screaming, Tika!” he sobbed, his great shoulders heaving. “The skulls... I... I can't stop seeing the _skulls_!”

Tika ran her fingers through her husband's tangled locks as he cried into his hands; her heart breaking for him. How she wished his brother dead in times like this, for she knew that Caramon would have been able to move on. She knew that with the death of his twin, Caramon would have accepted his fate and gotten on with his life.

But Raistlin Majere still lived. And so Caramon's wounds refused to heal.

That black-robed wizard still drew air into those evil lungs of his and still, through vast distance, could torment her beloved through the blood-bond the two of them shared.

It was a bond that was stronger than wedding vows. This fact became clearer and clearer to the vibrant, red-headed Tika as the years wore on and still her husband suffered.

Despite this, the woman tried to be sympathetic, she tried to understand her husband's pain, tried to be supportive of him and help him through his episodes. But the years of ups and downs had worn her resolve to bare bones. How many times did she have to go through this? How many times must she be forced to watch her husband cry over a twin that had forsaken him?

Tika sighed again.

She'd do it as many times as it took, she supposed.

“It hasn't been this bad since that first year,” she whispered, still absently dancing her fingers through his messy brown locks. “I know that this time of year is the hardest for you, Caramon,” she repeated. “I have nightmares too sometimes.”

Hazel eyes drifted back to meet green as his wife spoke, his tears had slowed but they still rolled down his scruffy face.

“I dream of Solace burning, the Vallenwoods up in flame like giant candles,” Tika was saying. “I can sometimes still feel the draconians' claws groping at me. Sometimes, I dream of being sucked into the Blood Sea and can still hear the screams of the sailors as they died.” She took a shuttering breath.

“It doesn't help that the Spring Dawning Festival is coming up soon again... They always make us give that same old gods-damned speech.” She glowered darkly in annoyance. “Their cheers mean nothing, their words of thanks will never repay us for what we went through that day in Neraka...”

“Tika...!” Caramon's voice drew her out of her own dark musing.

Tika wiped her eyes. The tears were few, but they were there. And they mostly fell for her husband and his sweet, pain-filled heart.

“I love you,” she said again; once more holding his face in her hands.

Caramon looked into his wife's strong visage. His gaze traced the countless freckles she hated so much with his somber eyes. He had always thought that her freckles fell across her face as numerous as the stars in the sky and would never grow tired of counting them, of finding new pictures and shapes on her body... Gods, how much he _loved_ this woman!

 _She_ was his strength... for he had none of his own.

“I love you too, Tika,” he replied huskily. “I do!”

She smiled. “I know you do, Caramon,” she confessed. “But sometimes... I feel like you love a memory more. I don't just mean your brother,” she added before he could react. “I mean the man _you_ used to be while you were with him. So I have to ask you, yet again...” Her hands held him more firmly, forcing him to look into her eyes so that he saw her pain.

“A memory, or us, Caramon Majere? Alcohol, or your family? Will you be strong for us, for yourself - or for a memory? That man is gone, both your brother and the warrior that you once were. Please let them both go...”

Caramon's mouth fell open as tears gathered on his dark lashes again.

“I'm sorry that you are having terrible dreams about your brother,” she whispered. “I am. Perhaps he _is_ in trouble,” she added with a small nod of her head, the wild array of her vibrant, tight curls bounced slightly with the movement. “But there is nothing you can do for him, Caramon. Let him live with his decisions. Let him get out of whatever problems he's brought on himself this time on his own. You cannot help him!”

“Tika-!”

“No, Caramon! _We_ need you!” she cried, finally giving in to her frustration. “I need you! I need you to help me raise our boys! I need you to help me run the Inn! I need you to be my husband, my friend and my lover! _I_ need you by my side! He doesn't! Raistlin _doesn't_ need you anymore! I DO!”

Hearing her say his name out loud after so long was like a blow to his gut and Caramon gasped in pain. No one had said the lost twin's actual name aloud in years and suddenly hearing it echo in his dark home, bathed in the blood-red light of Lunitari, was almost too much for the retired warrior to handle.

Caramon hid his face with his hands again in a vain attempt to keep from breaking down. Slowly he felt his wife's arms surround him.

“What can I do to help?” she asked for a third time as she held him to her bosom.

The big man breathed in his wife's scent while burying his face in the space between her neck and freckled shoulder. His large hands wove through the tight, wild curls of her hair. The fire-red of her locks contrasting against the calloused pads of his fingertips. Caramon just held Tika in his arms; arms that - even though not as muscular as they once were - were still strong and powerful as he cried like a babe.

Tika cradled her husband as he fell apart in her arms. He filled the same space there against her body that their offspring filled so effortlessly. She thought of their sons as she held their father. Two boys that were now somewhere past their toddler years and fast heading into the age where they would begin school. They were wild and rambunctious, quick-tempered yet also very kind; the perfect blend of their parents.

Then there was the third child...

Their dear, sweet baby Palin, soon to be a year old in a few short months. The baby had arrived on the same day as Caramon's life day... the same day as Raistlin's...

And that was the first of many portents to what future the child would likely walk.

Tika didn't know magic. She didn't understand it and didn't want to. It was foreign and strange and frightening.

And she saw it growing inside of her youngest child's eyes.

Fine-boned and quiet, Palin was already much different than his brothers. Even so young he was sensitive and observant. He watched everything with eyes that were bluer than they were green or even his father's hazel, and he learned with a brain that saw the fabric of the world differently.

The woman feared it, but as the months wore on she was growing to understand that she would have to accept it.

One of her sons would grow to become a wizard.

But, she often wondered, would this be a good thing or bad? Would her child have within him the same penchant for evil that had claimed his estranged uncle?

Tika supposed that only time would be able to answer that. Time and love, understanding and guidance. She vowed to not fail her son where the twin's parents had failed them...

And she hoped that Caramon would grow strong enough to support her through the journey. She needed him to guide her and find understanding. Caramon had, at the very least, accepted his twin's power and was used to it. Tika had no such reference in living life with a magic-user. But, she was willing to try. She was willing to allow her son to walk his path in hopes that he could bandage and heal the pain in his father left behind by Raistlin.

But as the months wore on and Palin grew, Caramon's pain only got worse.

Tika knew that it would be hard on both of them – the constant fear their son would become like the uncle. This latest pain, however... this was something far deeper than fears of the future.

Her husband could not - would not - let go of the past.

It was eating him up inside.

And Tika Waylan-Majere was helpless.

Tika loved her sons, all three of them, in the way that only a mother could. She cherished them, doted on them, was strict with them but also showered them with the unconditional love they deserved. She'd die for them - for Caramon - in a heartbeat if necessary.

Despite this, the woman just dearly wished that Raistlin's shadow didn't still hang over her family. Tika would do anything she could to just banish his memory from her husband's heart and mind, for she saw how it was like a thorn that refused to come out. It just festered and pussed and the red-haired woman feared that eventually, the infection would claim her beloved.

Again, Tika was helpless.

But she wouldn't give up. Not yet.

Tika refused to give up on her husband, refused to give up on their family.

She had bashed in countless draconian heads, had lived through a war and come out alive. She had survived these things and more and wasn't about to let a shadow from the past ruin the future that she was trying so hard to build.

Finally, Caramon began to calm as Tika continued to run her fingers through his long hair and down his broad back. After some time she asked, “Is this all you need of me right now, Caramon? Are you going to be able to come back to bed?”

She smiled to herself when she felt his warm hand run down her side and felt his lips begin to kiss at her neck. “Caramon Majere!” she whispered with a small giggle. “We'll wake up the boys!”

He chuckled against her neck and drew away to kiss her lips. When they broke apart he said, “I love you, Tika Majere.”

“I know,” she replied and kissed his forehead.

“There is one thing you can do for me,” he said finally. “Besides this....” he added as he ran his fingers over the thin fabric of her nightgown, pulling it up her thigh to expose her pale, freckled skin.

“And what is that?” Tika asked, quirking her eyebrow at him.

“Dump the flasks...” he said, meeting her eyes. “All of them.”

When she just sat there staring at him with wide eyes he explained his request, “You may think I can control myself, but I no longer believe that I can. Please get rid of them. I don't trust myself to do it...”

With another kiss on his head, Tika rose from the floor and helped her husband to stand with her. He towered over her as usual, but in his current state, he looked so very, very small. She watched in silence as it took several minutes before Caramon had retrieved every hidden canister and flask he had around the house and brought them to sit on the dining table.

Tika pursed her lips at the sheer number of flasks that lay in front of her, including the one filled with the dreaded dwarf spirits. There were nearly a dozen of the containers, each of various size, and each with different amounts of liquid within. She glanced up at Caramon who stood on the opposite side of the table, his eyes lowered, his demeanor deflated and shameful.

Sighing heavily she asked, “Is this it?”

He nodded without looking at her.

“Caramon?”

Finally, he raised his eyes. “Yes, Tika. That's all of them. I promise.”

Knowing she had to trust that her husband was telling the truth, Tika nodded and one by one poured the liquid within each flask into a bucket. She saved the intricate, griffin shaped flask for last.

Pulling the stopper from it the room was instantly filled with the heavy rich scent of dwarven spirits. Tika's eyes watered at the intense smell but she couldn't help but notice the way that Caramon shifted uneasily. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his jaw clench and she could hear him swallow hard. Without a second thought, Tika poured the contents into the bucket with the rest.

Caramon held out his hand to take the treasured flask from her but Tika did not relinquish it. Instead, she sidestepped him and tossed it into the basin of water that waited for tomorrow's dishes. Her husband didn't say anything, only nodded in understanding.

Even one drop left inside would be too tempting.

“I'll take this down to ground level and find somewhere to dump it,” she said, taking the handle of the bucket in her hand. “I'm sure people won't appreciate it if I went and dumped it in the wash house...”

Caramon nodded in understanding. He knew the bucket could not stay in the house, not with the smell of it making his head swim and his heart pound. Tika had to get rid of it and soon. But Solace was a tree city. Or rather, it _used_ to be. So disposing the liquor without anyone else knowing about it or smelling it would be a tricky endeavor.

The citizens prided themselves on the town's cleanliness and had learned from the elves in its early days how to trench and build runoffs into the branches of the trees so that the trek to the ground to dispose of waste didn't have to be made daily. Once, in years past, citizens would dispose of their dirty water in these hidden tubes and trenches, allowing gravity to carry everything down to buried waste areas beneath the trees. The houses were equipped with water cisterns that would catch rainwater and this would aid in flushing the tubes as well. In some ways this set up acted as a primitive sewer system, but it was effective and it had always kept the town clean.

But since so many of the trees had been destroyed in the War, the ones now strong enough to hold a house were yet too young to go through the altering in order to add such comforts. The trees were sacred to the residents of the town and they would not harm them, even to provide effective means to be rid of their waste and dirty water.

Now, very few homes were located up in the trees and so the older practice had also become rarer. Because of this, anyone still in the trees had to carry their buckets down to communal privy or one of the bath houses for disposal.

It was highly frowned upon to dump the wastes into the trees or over the edge of the walkways and if caught, the offense carried a heavy fine.

The populace of Solace was now located mainly on the ground and because of this, the town began to modernize and build actual underground sewers. But there were some, like Caramon and Tika, who still held to the old ways and desired to live in their beloved trees. So, these citizens did what was needed until their trees were old enough to modify. Their inconvenience was small compared to their want to return to bygone days.

“Now? Dressed like that?” Caramon asked, indicating her delicate elven nightgown, the ribbon of it had now become completely undone, almost exposing her buxom chest.

Tika shrugged then looked down at herself. She gave a sigh as she secured the front of the gown again. Going out in the dead of night like this would definitely cause some talk if the neighbors saw her.

“I'll go dump it,” her husband offered, holding out his hand.

She glared at him.

“What?” he asked innocently.

Tika shook her head and brought the bucket over to the front door. Silently she wedged her feet into her work boots before tossing Caramon's large cloak around herself. Folding the edges of it to her body she found a belt hanging on one of the pegs nearby and fastened it around her waist to secure the cloak together, ensuring that she was fully covered. With that done she opened the door.

“I'll be right back,” she said over her shoulder before her husband could argue.

Caramon watched her leave, his hand slowly dropping to his side when it dawned on him that Tika did not trust him not to drink straight out of the bucket of discarded alcohol.

Had he sunk that low in his wife's eyes?

***

Tika shivered slightly as the early spring air assaulted her face after she walked out onto her homes' landing. It was well after midnight, the hour of Darkwatch, and no one was around that she could see. Her eyes were drawn to a small hand shovel that still stuck into the dirt in the window box in which she had just planted spring seedlings.

Without a second thought, she took the trowel into her hand.

Not that she was afraid of being accosted. Tika Waylan-Majere was far from a helpless maiden. Though her body had softened and grown a tad thicker since the birth of three sons, her arms were still strong and toned from hours of lifting dishes and heavy plates, her thighs still powerful enough to deliver a well-aimed kick if need be.

She sighed then as the memory of brawls and fights from the days during the war when she was more proficient with the use of a frying pan than a sword played through her mind yet again. Like Caramon, Tika was plagued with subtle reminders of those days. She had killed plenty and had blood on her hands. Some days she knew that it didn't matter if it was goblin blood, human blood, or even the acid-like draconian blood... they still ended up dead and her hands were forever stained. The blood, no longer how long washed from her flesh, still made Tika a killer and it was something she had to live with.

Making her way down the long ramp that slowly wound around their tree, Tika finally came to the ground. Very few houses down their street had candles light within the windows or fires in the hearths. Tonight was chilly, but winter had long retracted its claws so now the residents had stopped burning hot fires to heat their homes. The weather would soon change and get hot on its own, so they relished this time of year for as long as they could.

Rounding the tree Tika made sure to stay away from the shack that was nestled against the gnarled base. She averted her eyes, for she never knew if its occupant would know if someone was looking.

Though now nearly blind, Weird Meggin had a strange way of just _knowing_ things...

“Why did Caramon insist on building in _this_ tree?” Tika grumbled to herself when she was certain that she was far enough away so there'd be no chance to be heard.

The old woman gave Tika the creeps. This was just a fact.

Caramon didn't seem to like her much either. But, for some reason, he had a strange sense of duty to watch over the aging herbalist. Tika never asked why and the big man never talked about his reasons...

It was only now that Tika truly wondered why her husband felt like he was the one to look after the old woman.

Finding a thick copse of brambles Tika set the bucket down and began to use the small hand shovel to dig a hole. The soil in Solace was rich and dark but still a bit on the frozen side so it took a few minutes to clear away the thick undergrowth in order to make a suitable hole to dispose of the liquid. Once done, she slid the bucket over and eyed the bushes. They were thick, thorny brambles, the kind that grew rampant if left unattended and she wondered why no one had bothered to clear them out from this area.

“You're too stubborn to let a bit of booze bother you,” she said to the bushes as she dumped the contents of the bucket into the hole she made. “In fact, it'll probably make you more hardy than you already are.”

Once empty, she set the bucket back and used her shovel to replace the soil. “Better here than in Caramon...” she muttered sadly and was surprised to notice a tear fall from her face to land on the back of her hand.

Tika stared at the wet spot on her dirty skin and watched the droplet run down to create a muddy smear to her wrist. She sniffed and rubbed her hands onto Caramon's cloak as she stood.

“Gods damn him...” she said, trying not to sob. “Gods damn all wizards and their magic!”

She was sick of crying, it did no good. Her eyes raised to Lunitari, to the full red moon that had once been the source of the detested twin's magic, her heart was full of spite.

The woman had grown to hate that moon just as she now hated the color red and loathed the color gold. But, she supposed, she hated black more and was thankful that she couldn't see the infamous dark moon that only those with evil souls could view.

“Rot in the Abyss, Raistlin Majere!” she spat, her saliva landing on the mound of soil that covered her husband's addiction.

Tika wiped away her angry tears with her semi-clean hands and knew that she was probably just smearing dirt everywhere but didn't care. She was tired and weary, her heart was sick of this battle that never seemed to end.

Legends called her a warrior, a hero. But in her soul, Tika knew she was just a scrappy, awkward castaway child that had gotten herself in way over her head...

 _'Oh well,'_ she thought to herself as she picked herself up off the ground. _'Forward is the only way for me to go now...'_

Turning to go back home she gasped, for directly behind her on the path back to her tree sat a small, silver-haired cat. It was staring at her, its large eyes gleamed in Solinari's light, the white moon having just then broken through the leafless trees above. The god's cold white touch edging everything in silver and made the cat shine even brighter on the dark path.

“Go on!” Tika shooed with her hand. “Get!”

The cat's black-tufted ears were disproportionately huge compared to its little head as they swiveled forward, the tip of its fluffy tail twitched in indignation but it made no move to leave.

Stray cats were not uncommon in Solace. They often were found not only on the ground but also high up in the trees, preying on the multitude of different species of birds and squirrels to be found nesting.

“Skat!” the woman clapped her hands in an attempt to scare off the little beast.

The cat blinked lazily at Tika before shifting its gaze as if looking at the mound of soil under the bramble bush.

Tika started as the white moons' light shone against the back of the cat's eyes at that moment. Unlike a typical cat, one of the eyes gleamed green and one blue.

Suddenly, without any warning, the feline blinked again, stood, and with a bristle of its striped, fluffy tail, darted off down the street to quickly be lost in the thick shadows beneath the trees.

Sighing, Tika grabbed the empty bucket in one hand and her trowel in another and made her way back to her home, praying as she did for the strength to get through the next few months with her sanity.

At least Raistlin Majere was never coming back.

This knowledge was the only thing that gave Tika hope that her husband would eventually be able to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/25/20: I've always wanted to read more about Tika and Caramon's relationship and their struggles after Raistlin left. It was glossed over in the Time of the Twins and, to be honest, Caramon's drinking made him out to be more of a buffoon than the poor, struggling soul held fast in the grip of addiction.  
> Well, not this time around folks.  
> I hope you are all okay with that. I'll do my best to give it the attention these hard issues deserve ♥  
> Thank you again for sticking with me everyone! Your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions help me know you are still enjoying the story.  
> Take care and see you next week!


	8. Meeting of the Highmages

Raistlin slowly woke to the sound of breathy humming coming from the direction of his study. It was not the sound itself that had pulled him from slumber, but rather, it was the fact that it was not coming from Yurielle. Though it was pleasant, it was not a welcome sound in his domain if not being made by his beloved.

He fought through the foggy images drifting past his eyes as consciousness fully came back to him - remnants of some strange dream. Raistlin blinked, trying to recall what the dream had been about but all he could remember was an unfamiliar pattern on a rug that had been beneath him. Elvish in design, the colorful flowers and ivy on the thick, plush rug were pleasant to his eyes.

Yurielle would probably like a rug like that...

Rolling over, the archmage found the door to his bedchamber cracked open and letting in a thin slice of firelight from the other room. Carefully he roused himself, finding that his legs were weak. As he took a moment to orientate himself Raistlin noted that he was still fully dressed. After a brief pause to make sure he could walk, he took the Staff of Magius in his hand and, using it for support, went to the doorway to investigate.

Peering through the crack, Raistlin saw Sisne sitting on one of the sofas near the hearth; an open spellbook lay on her lap. Idly she turned the pages in study, oblivious that she had an observer. Another movement drew the archmage's eye and through the far entryway came Nyx. In her own hands, she carried a covered tray. The two women exchanged low pleasantries with one another but because of the distance and the door nearly shut between them, their voices were muffled so that Raistlin could not make out what they were saying.

After a moment the half-elven woman left and Sisne stood, carrying the tray over to set it on his desk. Raistlin started when her voice rang out, “Stop spying and come eat, archmage. The sooner you do so, the sooner you'll see Yurielle.”

He glowered and opened the door the rest of the way. “Since when has my study become open for all?” he asked darkly.

The petite woman turned and, hands on her hips, gave him a stern look. “Since you opened your Tower to others!” she snapped. “Now, save your ire for later, archmage. I knew you'd be grumpy, but someone had to make sure that you were faring well. Your injuries were worse than you imagined and your body was weak from your ordeal.” She pulled the cover off of the tray to reveal a plate of cooked vegetables, slices of fruit, bread and a small helping of cheese. “You've been asleep for over a day and before you go rushing off to Yurielle, know that I've already visited her,” she added, seeing his alarm at how much time had passed. “She's still resting and the clerics are doing their best to keep her asleep for now...” she said, her voice losing some of its bite.

Raistlin approached. “Keeping her asleep?”

She nodded and looked up into his face when he stopped next to her. He was far taller than her. The little woman barely came up to his chest but it didn't stop her from acting like a giantess. Idly Raistlin pondered if she had a trace of dwarven heritage. It would certainly explain some things!

“She's having terrible nightmares,” Sisne explained softly. “They told me that, more than once, they've had to restrain her to keep her from hurting herself. She was never really conscious when this happened so they suspect that she's just traumatized by what you went through in Skullcap. Poor child,” she sighed, her hand going over her heart, “I can't imagine...”

Raistlin, ignoring the food, sidestepped the woman and began to make his way to the door.

“Oh no you don't!” Sisne exclaimed and suddenly, with more speed than one would think her stature capable of, she ran in front of the archmage and blocked his way; even going so far as to brace her hands against either side of the doorway. It was quite the feat considering how short her arms were.

“Move,” Raistlin growled.

“No!”

He glared at her and even though she flinched at the harsh gaze, she held her ground.

“The clerics will not allow her to wake until you come to her and I will not allow you to leave until you have taken care of yourself, archmage! So stop your pigheaded, foolish, lovesick over-reacting and eat something first!” she said in the most motherly 'do-it-or-else' tone Raistlin had ever heard used against him. “Glare at me all you want,” she added, her voice dropping dangerously, “but you will _not_ leave this room unless it is over my dead body!”

At a loss for words, Raistlin only managed to scoff at her. Angrily he turned and went to his desk. He sat and, as petulantly as he could manage, began to pick at the food just to appease her.

Sisne breathed a sigh of relief and lowered her arms but did not leave her spot.

“What else has happened since I fell unconscious?” Raistlin asked between bites. He wouldn't admit it, but he found that he was indeed hungry and the more he ate, the better he felt. The grogginess in his body eased, as did the strange, leftover sensations from his forgotten dream.

 _'Damn the annoying little woman for being right!'_ he thought as he tore at some bread with slender fingers.

“Dalamar and Geldwyn, along with Jenna and a few others, went to the Temple after your story to find that several clerics were already waiting for transport to Wayreth. Not only were there clerics of Paladine and Mishakal from the Temple itself, but druids of Chislev were also there waiting. It seems that you were right, archmage, that the other gods are aware of what is going on. They left for Wayreth soon after. Once I saw to it that you and Antimodes were resting, I went to the Temple myself this morning to check on Yurielle, leaving Nyx and Brishen in charge here.”

“You braved the Grove?” Raistlin asked, surprised. “By yourself?” He didn't miss her blanch in memory.

“I did,” she replied, holding her chin up proudly. “It was not easy, but with thoughts of Yurielle and of what might be happening to our fellow mages, I managed to hold my own through the Grove. Both on my way to the Temple and then back again.”

Raistlin nodded his approval and ate the rest of his meal in silence. When finished he stood and assumed his usual air of cold indifference. “I have eaten. Now, I will go to Yurielle,” he said defiantly when Sisne continued to bar the doorway.

“You should first speak with Master Antimodes,” she said, hands on her stocky hips.

Raistlin decided that this was the universal body language that all females must have agreed upon and employed in order to emphasize their point. He gave an irritated sigh. “Very well. Where is the Highmage?”

Sisne, with much smugness, turned and motioned across the landing. “He is in the room next to Yurielle's. Or, well... her old room I guess...”

Raistlin was already sidestepping her now that he had an opening and was crossing the landing to the other side, shrewdly ignoring anything else Sisne was saying. He just wanted to get this over with.

He gave three quick raps on the thick wooden door. A moment later he heard a muffled, “Enter.” Turning the handle, Raistlin let himself in.

The room was as it always had been when Raistlin would claim it while ill. Once, long ago, it served residents of the Tower as either a guest room or one that housed an apprentice or aid to a high ranking wizard. It was sparsely furnished, save only for a modestly sized bed, a table, a chair, and a bookcase. A fire crackled in the little hearth, providing warmth to the elderly man sitting in the chair that he had pulled close. The other Highmage had also turned the seat so that he could look out the window, because of this his back was to the archmage as he entered.

Antimodes didn't even look up to see who his visitor was. He already knew.

“Good morning, Raistlin Majere. I hope you are well after finding some rest.”

“I am,” Raistlin replied as he shut and magically locked the door in an attempt to keep Sisne and her prying nose out of his business. “I trust you have been provided every comfort?” he asked as he crossed the room.

Antimodes nodded, his eyes still on something in the distance. “It is a fine Tower,” he said. “Colder than these old bones like... say nothing of the ghosts that I sense here. But, with time, I am confident you will restore it to what it was in ages past.”

Raistlin stayed silent where he paused near Antimodes' chair. His cursed eyes looked out over the Shoikan Grove to the area that had captured the white robes' attention. Glittering in the early spring sunlight sat the Temple of Paladine, visible even from here. It was a simple building carved of white marble and seemed to radiate more from an inner source than from the fledgling sun on its walls.

“You have changed much,” Antimodes said quietly, his age suddenly reflected in his voice. “You are no longer the dirty, forlorn lad I found in that backwater tree-town. You are a man now, and one that has walked roads far darker than most and made decisions that many cannot fathom. But,” finally he tore his gaze off the Temple and looked Raistlin square in the eyes, “you still have the same look in your eyes, of one that knows far too much and, because of that, I know that little boy is still inside of you - the one eager to learn and shape the world to his liking. So, I guess I could also say that you have _not_ changed...”

Raistlin continued to stare, saying nothing.

“I didn't agree with Par-Salian you know...” the other man continued, unfazed by the archmage's silence, “about your eyes. I never understood why he did it, and I argued with him over it. It was unfair to place such a curse on you. I told him as much, but he would not listen...”

“I do not want your pity,” Raistlin said flatly, coldly.

The corner of Antimodes mouth quirked up in a small, sad smile. “That is exactly what that little boy would have said to me all those years ago. It was because of that tendency I saw in you - the bitterness, the loathing for pity coming from others - that I knew such a curse would not show you compassion. I knew that it would only harden you in ways we would all come to regret. Despite this...” the white-robe paused for a moment as he considered some inner question only he knew, “Yes, I still stand by my decision to sponsor you.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“Yes, Raistlin Majere, there is. Now let an old man have his say and listen to an elder's wisdom for once!” Antimodes returned. He hadn't raised his voice, but his tone demanded attention. “In one thing Par-Salian was right, you _needed_ to be tempered! Your ambition and skills honed to a razor-fine edge. This the Conclave made sure was done to you. But again, it was not by the means which I would have tried.”

The Highmage looked back over the Grove to the Temple, now fully illuminated by the sun peeking through the heavy cloud layer overhead. It utterly glowed with promises of warmth and comfort.

Raistlin also looked but was forced to avert his gaze within moments.

“Par-Salian didn't meet you as a small boy, he didn't see the state you were in when your sister presented you to me,” Antimodes continued, either ignoring or not seeing how uncomfortable it made Raistlin to look upon the shining Temple, “I knew instantly that you were not well taken care of.

“Oh, your siblings did the best they could to care for you - for each other,” he said, nodding his head as he spoke. “But even they were only children themselves. And, I might add, they were obviously nothing like you. So how could they possibly understand what you were going through? How could they know the call of magic?” Antimodes shifted in his chair before asking in a gentler, but no less commanding, tone, “You were what age again?”

When Raistlin didn't respond, Anitmodes turned his attention back to him, his kind, blue eyes were patent in a way that irritated the archmage to no end.

“Six,” Raistlin nearly spat the word.

“Six.” Antimodes nodded sagely. “Older than most, but still far too young to have already lived such a cruel life. You were sick often, yes?”

“I don't see-”

“Just answer me, Archmage,” Antimodes cut him off. “I promise this is going somewhere.”

“Yes,” Raistlin hissed.

The other Highmage rubbed his chin. “I wanted to bring you to the Tower to be taught in the ways of magic,” he confessed suddenly. “Not to be left there in Solace, practically in rags, to be instructed by a second-rate wizard who had no heart for shaping the potential, future members of our Order. I argued that, for your health, it would have been better for you to learn where you were well taken care of; to have regular meals provided and warm clothes to shield you. But again, Par-Salian refused me.”

Raistlin stared again, his stoic face hiding his shock. How he had so often wished for that very thing!

“I kept tabs on you through the years,” Antimodes continued, still holding Raistlin's gaze, seeing right through the stoic, golden mask. “I knew of how you were ostracized by your classmates, teased and bullied. Yet you persevered and here you are,” he waved an aged hand to encompass the Tower and Grove, “Master of a Tower of High Sorcery, one that lay dormant for centuries; its curses only able to be broken by the Master of Past and Present himself.”

Antimodes' eyes narrowed suddenly. “I see now, how this came to be. I see that, even then, those many years ago, Par-Salian was no longer the man I had once known in our youth.”

Still, Raistlin was silent, only this time it was because he was not following the older man's train of thought.

“I have sat here in this chair for hours pondering this and finally I have come to some form of understanding...” Antimodes said quietly with a sigh. “I had convinced myself back then that he was right. I had eventually come to accept that Par-Salian was willing to let a boy suffer the cruelties of things out of his control in order to mold him into the instrument that he wanted for the future he saw coming. I thought Par-Salian had been right in his actions to do this, especially when you indeed proved to be the instrument we needed during the War.” He shook his head then. “But now, now I see that he was simply molding you to be the house for the thing he himself had already fallen victim to...”

“Fistandantilus,” Raistlin heard himself say.

“Yes,” Anitmodes said, his eyes sad. He studied Raistlin for several more moments in silence.

Raistlin was about to say something but the other acted first.

“You love this woman? This... Yurielle?”

“Yes,” Raistlin didn't hesitate to answer.

“You would die for her?”

“Yes.”

“Give up all that you are for her?”

“Yes!”

“Even the magic?”

“Everything that I am,” Raistlin replied without batting an eye. “My magic included.”

“Why?”

Raistlin blinked, his brow furrowed. It was a strange question and he could not figure out where the old man was going with this.

When Raistlin didn't answer, Antimodes continued, “I know that there is more you are not sharing with me. You've told me of how your soul and that of Fistandantilus are one and the same. Yours broke away to be reborn but still, Fistandantilus found you. Or, perhaps it is more likely that he sensed you and put things into motion and, it would seem, he used Par-Salian to eventually bring you to him. He knew the life you would need to live in order to put forth the things you would face in your Test. The lich wanted to break you and reclaim you.” Antimodes shifted in his chair, the effort proved to Raistlin that the other man had been there for hours, so stiff was the old man's movements.

“If you will not answer me why you would give your magic up for this woman, then answer me this,” Antimodes said, leaning forward now. “What would have happened if Fistandantilus had succeeded? What fate was avoided because you, somehow, learned of what lurked inside of you?”

The two Highmages stared, the silence only broken by the occasional pop or hiss from the wood in the hearth as the fire ate away at it.

“Let me put it this way,” Antimodes said when Raistlin still didn't answer. “Despite the road you have walked, despite the deeply entrenched bitterness and resentment that I saw in your eyes -even as a child- somehow you found love and became the man I envisioned you to become if you had followed the path _I_ had wanted you on from the very beginning.

“So, archmage,” he continued calmly, “I have to wonder what did you discover, besides the love of another, that changed a life's worth of molding you to the darkness? I ask you this because the boy I met in that Inn so long ago would _not_ have said that he would have given his magic up for anyone or anything. Yet here you are,” he waved his wrinkled hand at Raistlin, “a man grown, one used as an instrument against his will, going back on negative habits that have been reinforced and affirmed throughout your life. Surly,” he cocked his head to the side, “even the force as powerful as love alone cannot do this.”

Silence stretched on as the two Highmage's regarded one another. Finally, Raistlin made up his mind as to whether he would share everything with this man, one who had given him the chance to even study magic in the first place.

“Yurielle is not only unique in that she holds two magics inside of her,” Raistlin began. “But she is also unique because she was given a task - a choice - in her Test by the gods themselves.”

“And that is?” the other asked, for he truly knew very little of Yurielle's Test. Only that he had been among the many white robes shocked and dismayed that she came out wearing the black cloth.

“The gods themselves were shown an alternate timeline,” Raistlin said, his voice soft but like the other man's, commanding attention. “One in which Fistandantilus and I became as one. There, he succeeded in fully infiltrating my body, mind and soul so completely that on that timeline we were the same being.

“Do you know what I had planned to do before these events that we now find ourselves in began?” Raistlin asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“There were rumors,” Antimodes said gravely, “...that you planned on godhood.”

Raistlin merely nodded once.

The implications of this slowly sank into the elder wizard's brain. He sucked in a breath. “Solinari! Please, tell me it is not so!” he gasped, staring at Raistlin in complete horror.

“I'm afraid that it is, Highmage,” Raistlin replied evenly. “On that other timeline, I succeeded.”

Antimodes stared, wide-eyed at the black-robed man before him as if seeing him for the very first time.

“I killed Takhisis,” Raistlin continued ignoring the others' horror-stricken face. “I took her place on the pantheon. But I did not stop there. I continued to kill the gods,” he said calmly as if speaking of the weather.

“One by one they fell before me and I took their power. I can show you if you like.” He held his hand out, palm forward as if to touch the other man's forehead and imbue him with the same vision he had taken from Yurielle's mind; a gift to her from Takhisis - a gift to the gods here by his alter-self in another reality.

Antimodes shrank away.

Raistlin smiled darkly. “Indeed, some days I wish I did not hold the vision of what that version of me and Fistandantilus accomplished. For, after it was all over with, there was nothing left.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. No stars, no planets, _nothing_ ,” Raistlin hissed, pausing dramatically. “The being I became devoured it all and in turn, began to endlessly devour himself. A snake eating his own tail, caught in a loop of never-ending _nothing!_ ”

“Gods...!” Antimodes gasped and clenched at his chest as if it pained him.

“Indeed,” Raistlin said and went to the small table where a decanter of wine sat and poured the other man a glass. Taking it over to him, he handed it to Antimodes who drank it greedily as if it would purge the images he saw in his mind's eye.

When the Highmage had finished and set the glass back on the table, Raistlin continued, “The gods were given knowledge of this other timeline and, seemingly, were tasked to give Yurielle a choice within her own Test. She is unique in that she had two magics,” Raistlin repeated. “And because of this, the gods would not have allowed her to live. But, as a result of what the god on that other timeline found, he himself shared the knowledge within _this_ timeline in hopes that it would be altered. In hopes that I would not follow the same path...”

Antimodes stared, not comprehending.

“That god, Raistlindantilus,” Raistlin scoffed lightly at the name Yurielle had dubbed the being, “found the last spark of the ambient magic there in that reality. Instead of devouring it like everything else, he crushed it. Using its power to connect with this possibility,” he opened his arms wide, “this timeline; because it is only _here_ in which Yurielle exists. It is only here, where _I_ could have changed...”

“And Yurielle...?”

“She, it would seem, is connected to that god. I suppose... in a way she was created by him using that very spark in order to change what had happened. But her purpose is deeper than even that.” Raistlin shook his head, still unable to fully grasp what his Star possibly could be as he went and poured himself a glass of wine as well as refilled Antimodes'.

If she was a piece of another timeline's magic... then...

The Highmage of the Dark Tower shook his head again, shoving any thoughts like that from his mind. Yurielle was here, with him in the here and now. However, the very thought that his alter-self had a hand in her creation disturbed him.

Did he really have no other choice but to fall in love with her and her with him? Were both of them just following the will of some force beyond their control?

Scowling into his wine glass, Raistlin took a small drink before continuing.

“In her Test of High Sorcery, Yurielle encountered the gods of magic, as well as Paladine, Takhisis, Gilean and Mishakal,” Raistlin began after sipping the sweet wine; using it more to moisten his throat than he needed any other effect it offered. “Not only were those gods present but also Raistlindantilus was there overseeing it. So, this tells us that he still exists in that doomed reality and because of this, our own timeline is affected.”

Again Antimodes simply stared at Raistlin who had by now grown all too used to the looks on people's faces as this sunk in. First was horror, then disbelief which would give way to despair to finally be replaced with existential awe and dread.

“I have no proof, nor am I completely certain of my conclusions,” Raistlin admitted. “But I believe the reason the magic we use is in flux is not because of those like Yurielle suddenly wielding the wild magic that has always been here,” he said. “The magic is in flux because our timeline is now linked with that other one. Like it or not, we need the wild magic here and now, for it is the only way to restore the balance. It is the only way to counter the meddling from another timeline, to prevent this one from unraveling as well. Thus the gods themselves have decreed...”

But, Raistlin couldn't help but consider the glaring fact that, if his suspicions were right and Yurielle was created by a spark from that doomed timeline, then was her presence here damaging to this one? And how did Fistandantilus play into this instability in the magic?

Antimodes rubbed at his forehead, trying to puzzle it all through. Finally, his eyes returned to Raistlin's. “And Fistandantilus?” he asked as if hearing Raistlin's thoughts.

“He must be destroyed,” Raistlin said. “The first step was to separate us. The soul he exists with is corrupted, unnatural, and must be eradicated. He also seems to be part of the reason why our arcane magic is suffering. Though I cannot really guess as to why or how besides his unnatural origins and how he came by his power...”

Raistlin sighed then and, coming to another decision, informed Antimodes of what Astinus had told him and Yurielle. He told the other Highmage of his soul and what was termed to be a 'crystallized soul', he told him that the connection between himself and Fistandantilus was far deeper than just his Test, far deeper than his breaking off from the Lich. Raistlin Majere confessed to Antimodes that his soul was not only a piece of Fistandantilus but that their souls combined were of a rare and advanced type.

“But,” Raistlin said as he came to the end of the telling, “because of what Fistandantilus had done through the eons, our souls' growth was unnatural, thus upsetting the balance. I cannot say exactly _why_ mine splintered off when he finally died... but there seems to be something within me that Fistandantilus wants.”

The older man blinked incredulously. “I have never heard of such souls,” he confessed, intrigued once Raistlin had finished. “If this is true and the overall soul that you share with Fistandantilus is corrupt then...”

“Then, it would seem, that mine is not _yet_ corrupt,” Raistlin said wryly. “Or at least not as lost as he.”

“You are not convinced of this?”

Raistlin scoffed and his hard, cold eyes landed on the Highmage. “You know what it is that I have done... the lengths I have gone to in order to achieve my power and status.”

“I have a feeling that Yurielle would argue with you that none of that matters,” Antimodes replied evenly.

“Indeed,” the black-robed archmage murmured, his eyes drifting back to the Temple in the distance. For a fleeting moment, he fancied that the Temple's glow was because his Star was within, shining her light, and for that moment his eyes did not hurt.

“You say that Fistandantilus is also part of the reason that the arcane is suffering,” Antimodes said. “Why do you think this is so?”

Raistlin's forehead furrowed. “Besides my theory that his advancement was unnatural, I have no other hypothesis. But Yurielle's twin on the other side says this is so - that he is warping the magic here as well - and I have no reason to doubt her.”

“Now Fistandantilus is physical again,” Anitmodes said gravely. “And in the body of my once great friend....”

“Par-Salian is no more,” Raistlin stated as fact. “The poison in him festered for years, doing to Par-Salian for Fistandantilus what the lich failed to do with me. I have very little doubt that anything of the former Highmage survived.”

“You are sure?” Antimodes asked, still clinging to some hope for his lost comrade.

Raistlin nodded gravely. “Even if a sliver of him remained, he has been completely absorbed by the lich. His essence added to the countless others that have sustained Fistandantilus.”

Antimodes seemed to deflate in front of Raistlin. His shoulders sagged as he sat back in the chair, his eyes were dull and vacant as he looked back out over the Grove without actually seeing it.

“So, what now, Raistlin Majere?” he asked after a long silence. “You claim it is Fistandantilus and mages that follow him that are the cause of these attacks.”

“It can only be him,” he replied. “You said it yourself; Par-Salian has not been the man we all thought he was for a very, very long time. He's probably been developing his dogma of a pure magic idealism in secret for years while he's read books and opened phylacteries belonging to Fistandantilus.”

“And he's somehow convinced others to join him along the way...” Antimodes said sadly.

“So it would seem,” Raistlin agreed. “Though, I don't quite understand the reason why so many have taken his side. Why any wizard would follow one such as Fistandantilus. Especially white-robes! It's....”

“Truly terrifying.”

“Indeed.”

Raistlin returned his half-full wine glass to the table. “I trust that now you finally understand that we are not trying to unravel countless years of tradition when it comes to our Art,” he said. “We are merely trying to save it, by any means necessary.”

Antimodes nodded. “Yes, I believe you,” he said softly. “So what comes next, Archmagus?” he asked then.

“Do we stand together?” Raistlin asked in return. “Or do we stand apart? From my position in this, I see that both Wayreth and Palanthas are in danger from the same enemy. Fistandantilus has a plan and I have no doubt that it involves destroying the structure of magic currently on Krynn. After this, he seeks to punish the gods for allowing wild magic to return for mortal use. I have not figured out why, but he hates and despises it...”

“Punish the gods?”

“Fistandantilus will not stop until he ascends to godhood,” Raistlin said gravely. “It is all he has ever wanted. And he will stop at nothing until he succeeds. He cares not for the Art anymore, for he will reform it in his own image. He will tear it all down and make them into the stairs he will shamelessly climb to reach his goal.”

Antimodes face, if possible in Raistlin's cursed sight, grew even paler.

Finally, the elder Highmage nodded, his face and eyes hardened with determination. “We stand together,” he said and held his hand out to Raistlin. “We must all protect the wild magic and put an end to Fistandantilus. It is the only way our beloved Art will survive this.”

Raistlin took the other man's hand in his own. The gold of his skin flashed as they shook, sealing their alliance.

“Good,” Raistlin replied, his usually soft voice seemed to echo through the bones of the Tower itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/2/20: I forgot to ask last week but I just wanted to check and see how you are liking the occasional point of view switch? I know it will draw out the story between Raistlin and Yurielle, but I think it is necessary to see whats happening on Caramon's end until all the threads finally weave together.  
> More of it? Less of it? There's other POV's I might throw in as well. Some probably rather unexpected *smirks*  
> Hope you are all doing well and staying safe.  
> Thank you again for reading!


	9. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collage in the middle, keep scrolling for the end of the chapter :)

Soon after their discussion, the two Highmages left the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. Making their way through the Shoikan Grove they finally entered the city together. Antimodes, though stronger than he had been yesterday, still had a hard time getting through the cursed woods with the enchanted stone Raistlin gave him. Even having the archmage walk beside him was not enough to dull the full terrors of the Grove for the white-robe. Because of this their going was slow.

When the two finally reached the edge of the dark forest, the elder Highmage let out a sigh of relief. “I do not envy my brethren who have decided to live within your Tower, Raistlin Majere,” he said, his hand over his heart as he took large breaths of sweet city air – much more preferable to the stench of death! “I'm not sure if my old heart can take that much stress every day!”

“The Grove affects everyone differently,” Raistlin said as they neared the abandoned Wizard's Hat. “The secret is that it's mostly all in your mind. At least, it is now that it is empty of undead...” he added. “The curse upon the trees inflict terrors of the mind while the undead made the Grove treacherous.”

“What was it like with the undead?” the white-robe asked as he struggled to keep up with the younger man.

Raistlin gave him a wry smile. “If the Grove's current state makes you this way now, then it would surely have killed you before. The undead inside could sense your fear. So, even warded they would do any and all in their power to pull you down to an early grave. It would not have mattered if I was beside you; their hunger for flesh was insatiable. You would not have lasted long, white-robe. But,” he added with a quick glance behind his shoulder, “it seems that now that their presence is gone the Grove has somewhat returned to its previous state of merely emanating the debilitating fear of years past.” The archmage shook his head as his attention returned to their path before them. Indeed the Grove had changed. It was empty now, leaving only the withering traces of fear in the absence of the undead beings. Raistlin wasn't sure if he liked the change or not but now was not the time to dwell on it.

“Like in the days before the Cataclysm?” Antimodes asked, still trying to keep up with the younger mage as Raistlin quickened his pace after rounding a corner. The Temple was in sight and by now the sun was beginning to set and Raistlin was beyond anxious to get to Yurielle.

“Perhaps,” Raistlin said. “Though, I believe that it is too soon to tell. The Grove has been twisted under its curse for centuries. Such death and hatred is not easily forgotten.”

The two continued the rest of the way to the Temple of Paladine in silence. Soon, all thoughts of the Grove, the magehood, even of Fistandantilus, fell from Raistlin's mind as he neared the sacred ground. As he walked, the realization struck him that he hadn't been away from Yurielle for this long since before they had become lovers. If what Sisne said was true it had been nearly two days since Raistlin had left her in the care of the clerics. The longest they'd been apart before this was when she had returned to Wayreth. Those few months had been uncomfortable for Raistlin then before she had filled him with her light.

Now it was unbearable.

She had become a piece of him. Like his arms or his legs.

'No,' he thought to himself, 'no she is of far more vital importance than a simple arm or leg.' He knew that he could have lived without one of those.

Yurielle was his heart.

Being separated like this had only proven to Raistlin Majere that he needed her close, for it was far too easy for him to fall back into his negative ways without her. How strange he found it, to be so accepting of another person constantly around him.

How long had that feeling been with him? For how long had the acceptance and reassurance of another's presence constantly beside him become such a normal thing? Weeks surely, for Raistlin hadn't spent so much time in the constant presence of another in years.

Not since he left his brother's side.

Not since he left Caramon to die...

Raistlin's footfalls slowed as he neared the Temple's entrance. So engrossed was he in his own thoughts that he did not immediately see that clerics were approaching them. Not only clerics, but a couple of white-robed mages and what also looked to be a druidess dressed in a sage green robe was among them.

“Greetings, Antimodes of Wayreth, and welcome to you as well, Raistlin Majere,” one of the clerics said with a low bow, fully drawing the archmage from his thoughts.

“What is the situation in Wayreth?” Antimodes asked, cutting straight to the point.

It was one of the white-robes who answered. “Things are under control,” he said. “However, we have taxed this Temple of both its room and its resources. We were on our way to the Temples of Majere and Kiri-Jolith to see if the monks or paladins would aid us.”

The elven druid turned her gaze upon Raistlin, her light blue hair, the color of pale cornflowers, was thickly adorned with leaves and flowers and braided in complex patterns. “Majere?” she said, bewildered. “How interesting... I had not realized the Master of the Dark Tower bore the same name as a god.”

“Seems you need to leave your forest more often,” one of the clerics said in a bemused tone, for the name of the one who had opened the dreaded tower was well known to the occupants of the Temples within Palanthas, as well as to most common folk in the city.

Instead of being offended, the druid laughed lightly, her voice was like music.

Similar to when he heard Sisne's song, the sound of it made Raistlin long for Yurielle's voice. No other sound, no matter how beautiful it was, could resonate or stir any warmth within him.

“Do not let us keep you,” Raistlin said curtly. “We are merely here to see how everyone is fairing.”

“By everyone you mean the woman Yurielle.” The elf smiled knowingly at him. “Come, archmage,” she beckoned with a lily-white hand, “I shall take you to her.”

“You are on your way elsewhere,” Raistlin said coolly. “I can find my own way.”

“I believe that you _could_ find your way, archmage,” she said gently. “But how do you know that this is not where Krynn wishes me to be in the absence of your Star?” she asked, still smiling. “The will of Chislev speaks with a similar voice as Krynn, her magic flows through the planet as well. Same as the wild Art...”

Raistlin blinked, taken aback by her words. “Very well.” Before leaving, he turned to Antimodes. “We shall be in touch, archmage,” he said.

Antimodes nodded. “We shall,” he said then added, “The gods be with you, Archmagus Majere.” With a bow of respect, the elder Highmage proceeded to follow a cleric through another entry into a wing where the mages were being tended to. He would check on them before setting out to return to Wayreth.

Raistlin turned and found that the elf next to him was standing uncomfortably close and still smiling at him. “Please, if you will,” he said as he took a step away from her. “Lead me to Yurielle.”

“Very well, mage,” she said pleasantly. “This way.”

Raistlin fell into step behind her as she led him up through a different entrance. They entered the Temple and even though Raistlin could feel Yurielle's ward upon his forehead working, he was smote with the weight and presence of the Gods of Light. His steps faltered and he was forced to stop just inside the foyer. Closing his eyes, Raistlin gripped the Staff of Magius and waited to see if the wave of pain assaulting his senses would pass.

“Is it very difficult for you?” the elf's voice broke through the pounding blood in his head.

The archmage risked to crack his eyes open and found the elf once more directly in front of him, standing awkwardly close. “Yes,” he hissed, annoyed. “This is not my place. I just need a moment...”

Before he could react, the elf reached up and gently pulled his hood up over his head and adjusted it so that it was low over his face, shielding his eyes. “We all have our own roads,” she said as she fixed the fabric, being careful not to touch the enchanted runes upon it, “and I sense that Paladine does not wish you to feel pain while here...”

“No,” Raistlin flinched at her unfamiliar touch, “no, I suspect that he doesn't. But I am not a member of his flock.”

She drew her hands away then, her smile returned to her face, and for the first time her beauty fully registered to Raistlin. She was tall and slender, as all elves are. Her eyes were the purest silver that he had ever seen, for they were molten pools of moonlight. Like Dalamar, her features were nearly immune to his curse. Her pale skin was flawless and untouched by time. He also noted that there was also a strange wildness to her as he gazed on the painted symbols and druidic runes that ran along the sides of her face and forehead.

This unrefined, wild quality was not a type that was common to see among elves and Raistlin wondered from where she hailed. One of the Kagonesti perhaps? It didn't matter, he supposed, for despite the mystery of her heritage, she was stunningly beautiful. Like a glimpse of untouched nature, something that Raistlin hadn't been able to view in all of its splendor since his Test.

Again it only made him long for Yurielle.

Raistlin took an awkward step away from her to distance himself and give some space so that he could think through the pain in his head. As he did he put a hand over his brow to help shield his cursed eyes from the holy light shining around him. Despite himself, he could not stop looking at the elf in front of him; still standing there serenely, gazing at him with those gentle eyes.

Yes, the elf was everything that Raistlin could remember of what nature looked like. She was pale, soft, and gentle - like a newly opened spring flower. Poised and steady as a calm river, always following its destined route. She was sunshine dancing on dew and the song of spring birds and animals new from their nests; the orderly and expected flow of nature and its rhythm. Yet there was also a ferocity behind her eyes that one must always respect when in nature, for there you are at the mercy of the elements.

Raistlin could sense power and magic flowing off of the druid. The scent of it was just as strange and wild as Yurielle's; somehow similar but instead laced with divine influence. Very different from the arcane, this elf's magic was in a realm all its own. If he wasn't in so much pain the archmage would be more fascinated by it, for he had never encountered a druid of nature before.

Still taking in the elf's features Raistlin realized that in contrast, his Yurielle was fire and passion - the epitome of mischief beneath the Vallenwoods in autumn. His beloved brought forth thoughts of a different side to nature than this druid did. Yurielle was the animals and plants that were considered unusual or pesky, like the flying squirrels Raistlin remembered that would chew through the eaves to steal bread at night. Yurielle was the mushrooms in the dark underbrush and the rainbow that only appeared because there had been a violent storm. Behind his beloved's eyes was the joy that embracing the discord of the world around her brings.

Raistlin found that he much preferred nature as Yurielle touched it. She was the only way for him to see beauty in the world and because of this, Raistlin felt almost ashamed that he even thought of anything else as beautiful.

“You are thinking of her,” the elf said softly, her head tilted to the side. “And it is helping to ease the pain, is it not?”

Raistlin blinked, for the druidess was right, the oppressive pain he felt around him had lessened and the shade of his hood had eased his eyes. He gave a slight nod.

“Then come, Raistlin Majere,” she said lightly. “Wrap her around you and use her as your shield while you are within these halls, for Paladine and Mishakal understand love and revere it. With it in your heart, you may enter unmolested.” With that, she turned and continued on her way without pausing to make sure that he had followed.

Feeling slightly better, though somewhat lightheaded from the constant brightness, Raistlin took a slow breath and gathered his faculties before following. The elven druid didn't lead him far into the Temple, only down one short hall and around a corner before she paused when a cleric ran from one of the rooms at the end of the corridor.

“Lady Drex'ari!” the cleric sighed in relief. “She is having another fit!” she exclaimed. “I was coming to-” The cleric of Mishakal, so identified by the infinity shaped amulet she wore around her neck, stopped abruptly when she noticed Raistlin approaching.

“I have brought her beloved,” Drex'ari said, turning to Raistlin with a graceful gesture. “Her terrors are growing worse,” she added gravely, meeting his gaze. “We were hoping you would come to her soon. We fear giving her more sleeping potions than necessary, for they seem as though they are no longer working as they once were. We now have few options available to us-”

Raistlin didn't even pause to let the druid finish, he was already pushing his way past her and the cleric. Any lingering pain he was suffering vanished when he opened the door and saw Yurielle laying in the small bed beneath the window. She was curled in on herself like a fetus, her hands tucked against her chest in the usual way she always did when distressed. A heartrending moan issued from her throat as she rocked slightly, trying to find shelter from whatever it was she was experiencing.

In a heartbeat, Raistlin was beside her. “Yurielle,” he whispered, sitting on the edge of her bed. “I'm here,” he said and placed a golden hand on her head.

Yurielle started - almost violently - at his touch. But the druid and the cleric watched, amazed, as the woman in the bed stopped her terrified moaning. Slowly she stirred awake and opened her eyes before looking up.

“Raistlin!” Yurielle sobbed when she saw him. Her eyes were red and swollen, her skin flushed still with fever.

“Shh...” he soothed and gathered her to him where she all but collapsed in his arms and unleashed a torrent of tears, soaking his robe. “I'm sorry it took me so long to return,” he said softly, stroking her hair.

Yurielle buried her face into his chest, thankful to at last be surrounded by his comforting darkness. Through her sobs, she managed to catch whiffs of his familiar scent and found reassurance in his very presence.

“They tell me you have been unable to rest,” he said gently as he ran a warm hand down her back.

“Yes,” Yurielle sobbed, tears still falling. “I can't stop seeing them!” she moaned.

“Who?”

“The blood-soaked undead,” she managed to say through a tight throat. “They keep reaching out to me... they keep pulling me down!” She somehow managed to get closer to him as if trying to crawl into his very skin in an attempt to find safety. “And their faces! Fistandantilus and Ariallah's! I can't stop seeing their faces!” she cried, heartbroken.

Raistlin gently drew her away and placed both hands on either side of her face. Without saying anything, he kissed her forehead before pressing his own against her warm skin. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, nearly inaudible.

This brought on a whole new wave of sobs, but Raistlin was somewhat reassured that these seemed to be the healing kind. Yurielle was working through the trauma of what she had witnessed. He understood that it was painful and hard on her, but he recognized that Yurielle's heart was ready to begin its long healing.

Yurielle held onto her lover, no longer terrified now that she knew she wasn't dreaming and pressed herself against his chest; savoring his warmth and scent and magic.

Raistlin was here. Her sweet Darkness.

The archmage drew her back to lay on the bed with him and let her cry her pain away without any care to how her tears were ruining the velvet of his robe. He continued to stroke her hair and whisper loving words in her ear and was just thankful to be back in her presence. It had hardly been two short days but Raistlin was keenly aware of how tightly wound he had become in her absence. The anxiety he didn't even know was there slowly started to melt away as he ran his fingers through her auburn locks.

Finally, after many minutes Raistlin looked up to find that the druidess was still in the room with them.

Seeing him notice her, Drex'ari took a step closer. In her hand, she held a steaming mug. “I have brought you more tea, Yurielle,” she called softly.

Yurielle sniffed from within Raistlin's embrace and shifted, her red-rimmed eyes peering up at the elf. “Thank you, Drex'ari,” she said, her voice muffled and thick with tears. “You've been so kind to me.”

The elf smiled warmly and placed the tea on the side table within reach.

“Thank you,” Raistlin added. “I had not realized you were helping her as well.”

The druidess nodded. “The clerics began to worry about how many sleeping potions they've been giving her. When the mages failed to be able to cast any sleep spells on her they sent for me to see what aid Chislev could offer. I'm afraid it was very little, for I have no spells to calm nor ways to ease such hurt. All I could offer was this soothing tea.”

With his familiarity with herbs Raistlin caught the scent of lavender, chamomile, and valerian drifting up from the liquid and knew that indeed, the woman was a master of her craft. So skillfully had the druid woven her choices that the very aroma of the tea eased even Raistlin by smelling it.

The archmage nodded his appreciation and reached for the cup and held it for Yurielle. She took it in her hands without moving away from him and sipped it slowly.

“She still has a fever,” he said to the elf as Yurielle drank.

Drex'ari sighed. “Yes, a strange fever at that. I have never encountered the like. Though, it was one of your fellow mages that assured me that it is similar to a kind of magical ailment that seems to afflict those of your Art.”

“Sometimes,” Raistlin said, pressing his cheek against Yurielle's forehead as she sipped at her tea in silence from inside his embrace. “Though this seems more severe and drawn out than any I've heard of...” he commented.

“The arcane is not within my realm,” the elf admitted. “But, with time and care, I believe she will overcome it. However, she will be weak and vulnerable to other ailments and infections until she does. I would caution you to keep her somewhere secluded and away from others as she heals, lest she become ill.”

Raistlin nodded and continued to embrace Yurielle. “I will,” he promised softly.

“Well,” the elf took a step back, “I have done all that I can. It has been a delight to meet you, Yurielle. I do hope we will see one another again,” she said before nodding to Raistlin. “And you as well, Archmage Majere, whose name is that of a god.” She smiled a cryptic, almost knowing smile before turning to leave without waiting for any reply.

“I like her,” Yurielle sighed softly. “She was lovely.”

“Druids,” Raistlin snorted. “I'd argue they're stranger than any half-baked mage.” He smiled down at Yurielle when she gave a small giggle. “I love you,” he whispered to her and kissed her forehead.

“I love you,” she echoed, staring at him as if afraid to blink, her empty tea mug clutched in her hands against her chest. Her large eyes were glassy and red-rimmed as they gawked at him.

Gently, Raistlin took the cup from her and set it on the table beside her bed. Turning back, he found her still looking up at him and studying him as if she questioned he was really there.

“I am here, Yurielle.” He smiled at her knowingly. “You don't have to keep looking at me like I'm not real.” Carefully Raistlin took her hands in his and examined the newly healed skin along her fingertips, grateful again for the divine power to heal and restore that which was the only beauty in his dying world. The healed flesh was pinker than her normal skin, but it was soft and warm; all traces of what she had gone through to gain the injuries had been erased. Finally, he brought her hands to his lips and kissed the tip of each digit reverently before softly kissing her palms.

She gave a sheepish smile of her own as she watched him dote on her hands. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You're... you're just... so golden and beautiful...”

Raistlin did his best, but a small scoff still managed to force its way out of him.

Yurielle ignored the self-critical sound and, detaching her hands from his, she reached up into his hood and gently touched his face with her fingertips. “Does it hurt you to be here?” she asked quietly, her warm fingers tracing patterns on his cheekbones and up to the edges of his eyes.

Gods, he had missed her touch!

“Not as long as I'm with you,” he replied and pulled her closer. Pressing his face against hers and breathing her in as she had done to him.

Very soon their lips finally touched. The kiss was warm and soft, but also overshadowed by what they had just gone through and what Yurielle continued to endure; soft and sad but also thankful to be reunited, the two lovers' lips gently danced together.

There were so many emotions tumbling around within the archmage all of a sudden. Profound relief chief among them, but there was also worry and a strange sense of uncertainty. He was free of Fistandantilus and Yurielle was safe now around him. But the archmage knew that the lich's presence was now more dangerous to her than ever.

Was he strong enough to protect her? What magic did he truly still possess now that he was no longer connected to the lich? Was he still worthy of having Yurielle beside him? Who even was he now that he was his own being again?

These questions Raistlin had not had time to even go through and ponder in the time since.

But he hoped to start soon.

“Are you ready to go home, Yurielle?” he asked when their kiss finally ended.

Her glassy eyes lit up in that enduring way that always made his heart flutter.

“Yes, Raistlin, you don't even have to ask.”

***

***

It didn't take long for Raistlin to find a cleric and inform him that he was taking Yurielle back to the Tower. The cleric tried to object but the archmage would have none of it. “She will heal better with me than she will here,” he said. “There is nothing you can do for her anymore. Besides, you need her chambers for others that are in more need.”

“But Lady Crysania-” the white-robed man tried to object but Raistlin cut him off.

“Lady Crysania knows where to find us,” he said curtly. “She has the means to do so whenever she wishes. Now, if you would be so kind as to relay the message so those of your order know I simply didn't abduct your patient,” he said darkly, knowing it would come to just that if he had outright left without so much as mentioning it to anyone, “we will be on our way.”

The balding man shrank away from the archmage's harsh, cursed gaze, bowed and hurried away. His robes snapped loudly as he disappeared around the corner so fast that his sandals squeaked on the marble floor.

“You shouldn't bully the clerics so much,” Yurielle's voice sounded from behind Raistlin. He had left her to finish dressing while he sought out a member of the Temple.

Turning, he found that she stood in the doorway to her room. She was dressed in her dark blue robe with the magical cloak around her shoulders and all her bags and magical items hanging back in their usual places around her waist.

“I'm afraid being here makes me a bit cranky,” Raistlin offered in way of apology and held his hand out to her.

Yurielle smiled, her cheeks indented only slightly, and took his outstretched hand. Her touch was still very, very warm.

Raistlin frowned.

“What?” she asked, seeing his displeasure.

“Your fever worries me,” he confessed. “You are not yourself at all.”

She sighed and leaned into him, tucking her head against his neck. “I don't feel well at all,” she said quietly. “But I'll be alright. I just want to go home, Raistlin. Please, take me home. I know once I'm there, I'll start feeling better...”

Raistlin hoped so.

“Can you walk all the way back to the Tower?” he asked.

“I'll try.”

“The shield is still up,” he said. “So I cannot teleport us directly inside. We will have to face the Grove...”

“The Grove does not scare me,” she said, moving so that she looked up into his face again.

“I know,” he agreed. But in his heart he knew that in her state, the Grove's power would still be hard on her.

“Maybe if you teleport us to this side of the Grove?” she suggested. “Then we can walk together through it. I'm sure that I can manage that much.”

He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Very well,” he said softly and put his arm around her. “Close your eyes.”

Yurielle pressed herself against him and buried her face against his neck again. “I'm ready.”

In a heartbeat they went from standing in the pristine white halls of the Temple of Paladine to standing on the crumbled cobblestone walk just a short distance from the path that led through the Shoikan Grove. The archmage was surprised to find that night had fallen.

Raistlin felt Yurielle go limp against him almost instantly when they reappeared. “Yuri?” he asked, worry plain in his voice.

“I'm alright,” she said weakly. “I'm just... very tired.”

“Shirak,” he said and the crystal on top of his Staff flared to life. Without waiting for her to say anything else, Raistlin spoke his strength spell. “Hold the Staff,” he commanded and Yurielle obeyed, taking it in her weak grasp. Swiftly he picked her up, one hand under her knees while the other cradled her behind her back, and began to make his way to the path through the twisted, angry trees.

The fact that Yurielle didn't make any objections to him bossing her around for a change worried him.

They entered the overhang of the first row of trees and Raistlin felt Yurielle begin to shiver. He looked down and was alarmed to find that her face was pale, her eyes held tightly shut. He had never seen her like this when within the Grove. She looked terrified.

“Yurielle?” he asked, pausing.

“Don't stop,” she moaned and held the Staff closer to her chest. “Please...”

He didn't need to be told twice.

Together, they made their way deeper into the trees; the mist around them was thick and heavy like a dense fog. It swirled and danced around Raistlin's ankles like water, the Staff of Magius barely able to shed its light farther than a few inches around them, so thick was the darkness.

In his arms, Yurielle began to tremble violently the deeper into the Grove they walked.

“Raist-!” came her strangled voice but it faded away as if her breath was taken from her.

Raistlin looked down to find that her eyes were closed tightly, her lips clamped together in a thin white line, her skin nearly gray in its pallor.

“Yuri? What-”

She opened her eyes at that moment and stared off into the darkness, they were glassy and unfocused. Raistlin did not have time to finish his question, for before them as if the darkness itself had taken shape, stood a hooded figure.

Yurielle gave a weak whimper.

Raistlin, like Yurielle, stared at the mysterious apparition. The fog shifted suddenly and the light of the Staff gleamed against two, dark eyes. The reflected light was not white, but rather dark and void and Raistlin realized that the only reason he could even see those eyes were because he could already see the moon in which they belonged to.

Above them, Raistlin sensed no black moon in the sky, for it stood before them, personified in mortal form.

“Nuitari,” Raistlin breathed in reverence.

The god was suddenly directly next to the archmage despite the fact that he had made no movement. He simply was off the path one moment and in the next was right there, but an arm's length away. Those eyes continued to glow, unblinking. His robes were darker than black and within the hood, impossibly, was even blacker, like a devouring hole of shadow. All that Raistlin could see were the eyes that resembled the black moon; dark and void and terrible, both staring at him and Yurielle.

As the archmage watched, those eyes narrowed and though they held no pupils, Raistlin knew the gaze of the god shifted to study Yurielle.

She shrank deeper into Raistlin's arms and gave another tiny whimper. Sweat was pouring down her forehead now and her teeth were chattering. Weakly, she turned her face away and buried it into Raistlin's neck, unable to bear the gods' cruel gaze.

A hand appeared from within the pitch blackness that was the gods' robe. It was bone white, the veins running along the slender fingers were black as ash.

“Do not hurt her,” Raistlin heard himself say, not even considering that he was speaking to a god. “She has suffered enough...”

Before Raistlin could react, Nuitari lightly brushed his ebony-nailed fingertips along Yurielle's brow; the sharp points left slightly raised welts on her skin.

Instantly she went limp in the archmage's arms.

“ _I have not harmed her,”_ Raistlin heard the words in his mind. The voice was soft, cold, and unnerving. It was harsh yet it had a strange and hypnotic - almost echoing - quality to it. _“She merely sleeps.”_

“Thank you,” Raistlin said, humbled. “I'd bow in homage, but...” He shrugged as if to indicate that his arms were full and that to bow would be most difficult.

Once more the gods' eyes snapped back to his, terrible in their wrath. Yet, even as Raistlin met those eternal eyes and felt himself shrink under their weight, he found that there was an emptiness to them, a distraction.

To his surprise, the god scoffed. _“_ Your _heart has never been mine, Raistlin Majere,”_ the words rippled through his mortal mind, _“so do not even presume to pretend like it suddenly does now.”_ In a fluid motion, the god turned away, leaving only swirling mist in his wake.

“ _Come,”_ the god commanded, his voice echoing through the silent Grove. _“We have much to discuss.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/9/20: I hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> Fun fact, the druid Drex'ari(a) is loosely based on one of my main D&D characters. I dropped the last 'a' here as there's already an 'Aria' name used in my story. I hope she was interesting to you, perhaps we'll see her again. In any case I thought she deserved her own collage.  
> I love druids. If I could be any class in real life, I most definitely would be a protector of the natural world.  
> What about you? What class would you be?  
> As always, thank you for reading. It means the world to me.  
> Next week shall be interesting :) How will Raistlin deal with a god? And what would a god even have to say? Stay tuned!


	10. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I need to apologize. After stepping back and going over my outlines and plans I realized that I needed to write this chapter first. So my teasing of the meeting with Nuitari happening this week was premature and we might not even get back to Raistlin and the god yet for a bit. 
> 
> ALSO - trigger warning with this chapter. There will be some body horror and gruesome imagery. I am also adding a tag in the story description for this as well as it will probably become a recurring thing from here on out with this particular POV.

Deep beneath the Garnet Mountains there lies a long-forgotten fortress.

Once, many ages ago, it was called Ulgaard - named thus for the peak which hides it.

No light reaches this place; no warmth fills its halls. Not that any ever could or needed to, for it had always been as dark and cold as any haunted crypt.

Once called Ulgaard it is now a nameless dungeon filled with unspeakable horrors.

Since time uncounted, only evil and death occupied it. The only sounds within were the tormented cries of things that should not exist.

Truly it was a realm of nightmares if ever there was one.

But as chilling and forbidden as Ulgaard's corridors were or as evil and cruel as the abominations that still roamed these halls, nothing was more horrifying than its creator.

The woman was reminded of this as Fistandantilus' agonized screams reverberated through the obsidian walls around her. Through the cold surface of volcanic glass, she could feel his pain, his triumph, his evil, and above all his undying lust for magic as the forces that bound him worked to re-knit his body back together.

For hours she watched the process from within a nearby cell as new skin slowly grew across expanses of ruined, mummified flesh. It reminded her of countless white maggots, all rolling and slowly churning as they fell into place, one by one fusing to form his new skin. But then the flesh would blacken and flake away, reforming again as if some unseen sculptor was not satisfied with what had been done and started the process fresh once more.

She listened as his bones repeatedly broke apart, splintering and piercing his tissues and organs, then reconnecting to shape this body into what was desired. His screams were so terrible that all other sounds would quiet and listen in fear to their masters' anguish. Then they would join in as he laughed deliriously as the process went on and on and on. The cacophony of noise would have driven any living thing to insanity long ago.

But the captive woman was no longer alive.

That much she was certain of - if she was certain about anything right now.

Ariallah watched the grotesque scene with eyes that no longer needed to blink. She did so now only because she remembered doing it once. Same with breathing. This body did not require that she draw air to sustain it, she only did it because it felt _right_. Like someone suddenly having a lost limb returned to them, the phantom pain of that thing gone then being brought back was a strange sensation indeed. To use it again after so long - to fill lungs with air - it was both unsettling and calming to her. The more she did it the more she wanted to continue doing so.

However, though it felt right, it also felt so very, very wrong. Like a deep bruise that hurt to touch, the act of breathing was akin to one that just couldn't stop themselves from poking compulsively at the contusion. Because after a while the obsessive sensation was almost pleasurable. A sorrowful reminder of what it was to be alive.

The woman who was dead, but somehow not, watched as Fistandantilus writhed on top of a great slab of marble within the very heart of his maze-like lair. Hideous creations of his that had existed here for countless ages held the man down as his body reshaped.

Gone was any resemblance to the body's original inhabitant, for Ariallah knew that the man known as Par-Salian was no longer in that mortal form. His essence had been burned away; devoured and absorbed like so many others. Leaving behind only an empty, magic-filled husk.

Lucky for him.

There was a small pang of jealousy inside her for the former Highmage of the Conclave. He was free of his mortal cage while she was here, forced back into one.

Ariallah ran her hand over the delicate black wires in front of her. Thin as spidersilk, the strange metal strands were like a web keeping her in her cell. She was but a tiny fly caught and left in the corner to use once the spider was ready. The thought made her uneasy, for she did not understand how it was that she came to be here or even what the lich's plans were for her.

Ariallah could not remember being brought to this place. She had simply opened her eyes and this was where she found herself. Alone in a dark cell with only questions and screams for company.

What she _could_ remember was a rending pain that had nearly obliterated her. Worse than being born, worse than any death she had ever endured, the crushing pain was more agonizing than when Fistandantilus had used her life to ignite his precious Bloodstone.

After she had been pulled through the veil between worlds she had looked up into her twin's eyes – so full of fear and sorrow.

Ariallah had told her to run and Yurielle obeyed, taking her lover to safety. They had escaped; they would live life as it was meant to be lived. Not this strange, perverse existence that now stretched on before the twin that stayed within the web.

Lucky for them.

Again the reshaping of bone must have hit a vein or artery and blood squirted through the air in a fountain of reddish-black ichor to land across the surface of the slab on which Fistandantilus lay. Ariallah returned her attention to the morbid scene not because she cared to watch, but because there was nothing else for her to do.

He was laughing again. It was a sick, twisted sound that no longer resembled something a human could make. The sound ended suddenly when he again lost consciousness. But she knew he would wake soon, for he always did. The unseen sculptor would not let their greatest work of art rest for even a moment.

After a while Ariallah grew bored and her eyes continued to roam the room. She could sense that she was deep beneath ground, for the oppressive feeling of miles of rock weighed down on her. But where exactly she was, she had no idea.

The room she was in was huge. Its ceiling arched out of sight to be lost in shadows high above. Buttresses made of red granite held up the cavern like the rib cage of some massive creature; the bones were lost with the ceiling, swallowed by the dark void far above her head. The walls were lined with massive shelves filled with rows upon rows of ancient books; their spines held runes that glowed in the flickering light from many braziers lit throughout the room. The vapors that wafted up from the unnatural flames gave the faint smell of roses mixed with the cloying, sweet aroma of death and grave moss.

Jars of various colored liquids sat upon smaller work surfaces around the room, their contents long dormant through the endless years but Ariallah had no doubt they were still as potent or deadly as the day they were brewed. Countless canisters of components filled other shelves while glass boxes loaded with mummified body parts of only the gods knew what sat in a dusty corner. Along the wall beside her were more holding cells like the one Ariallah occupied. Some of them bore the marks of having once been occupied...

The vast room beyond her cell was a lair of dark knowledge, of forbidden experiments and of things that should never be done by mortal souls. Evil hung heavy in the air, as did the giddy sensation that this place was far beyond the reach of earth-bound beings or gods and so the creator could do whatever he wanted. Like a child left to their own devices in some basement cellar while the world went on around them, ignorant the games that were being played in the darkness.

Only this was no child pouring salt on slugs or pulling legs off cockroaches, destined to grow up to be the town bully or nameless thug.

This cellar was the playground of an Archlich who was not bound by laws of men or gods.

Fistandantilus did what he wanted. And he had done so, without repercussions, for ages and ages on Krynn. History did not know of the things he had done in these rooms far beneath the mountain. The ignorant are lucky to not know of such horrors capable by those with power. And if such evil existed within a mortal man, then the gods he served were beyond the worst nightmare imaginable.

Speaking of gods...

Ariallah's eyes flicked to the side of the room where stood a black mirror with what looked to have five heads of dragons stretching along the outer edge. The mirror bore one thin crack through its center and the dragon heads, each with their maws open in silent screams, looked as if they were rusted with age; their colors faded and nearly indistinguishable from each other. Once in a while, Ariallah thought she saw something flicker along the surface of the broken mirror but it happened so fast she was not certain she had seen it.

Perhaps she _was_ starting to go insane. Small whispers in the back of her mind crawled to the foreground as if to confirm this but she banished them with a shake of her head. Her only other companion besides the questions and screams were the whispers. But she didn't have time for them right now, for again the mirror shimmered. Ariallah sat frozen in anticipation that something new might actually happen as she waited.

In the center of the room lay the massive stone slab where Fistandantilus suddenly began to writhe; perhaps stirred to wakefulness by the activity in the mirror. The grand table looked as if it had been hewn from the foundation of the world, so old it appeared. Its surface was dark and glittering like a night sky filled with endless cold stars. Along the surface ran veins of large multicolored streaks: red, black, blue, green and white – the colors of his goddess.

Again the mirror shimmered and Ariallah understood who and what lay beyond that cracked surface.

Takhisis, She of Many Colors and of None, Dragon Queen of the Abyss, Lady Chaos, the Most Holy Corrupter. Fistandantilus' beloved and his most hated. The only god who knew of this place, the one who allowed it to remain, for here he made wonders uncounted for her and her alone.

And the being he had sold his soul to long ago.

Ariallah shook her head as the whispering thoughts returned to swirl inside her mind, slithering one over the other. She should not know of this information, but she did. Somehow, she knew many strange and forbidden things but they were stuffed in unlabeled boxes inside her psyche and it was a laborious task to even begin to sort through it all and put things back together. This should have been confusing - frightening even - but Ariallah just accepted it as part of this new, strange and empty existence of hers.

She would remember, she would learn the language of these whispers, but it would take time. To Ariallah it seemed like she had all the time in the world now as the only measure of it was her captors tortured and hideous cries of agony and sick, twisted joy.

His wailing began anew as the mirror indeed started to glow and flicker.

So much had happened since she had first woken but it had gone on for so long that one would have thought the events all the same. Since first coming back to consciousness Ariallah had witnessed the remainder of Fistandantilus' phylacteries being broke open upon his body. The energy within them entered his flesh even as it splintered and reshaped, as if weaving into the fabric of his form in ways she didn't understand.

If she had thought the sounds he made _now_ were terrible, they did not compare to the insanity that had burst from him as he reabsorbed his old energy locked within the ancient vessels. For a while Ariallah had thought that Par-Salian's body was rejecting this ancient power but she was wrong. The magic always found its way inside his body and she watched, sickened and fascinated as he grew in strength and power before her very eyes.

He had screamed and screamed then, his vocal cords continually shredded themselves only to snap back together to continue the unholy sounds as everything he once was returned to him. Sometimes he screamed in agony, sometimes in ecstasy, moaning and crying out in pleasure, but in either case, the magic that bound him did not allow him to die.

And he never, not once, begged for death.

Suddenly, as if summoned by his screams, mirror flashed to life and remained filled with luminescence the color of dull ash. This time Ariallah watched as five sets of red eyes gleamed in the swirling light for but a moment and the air was filled with the shrieking laughter belonging to the denizens of the Abyss.

There was another loud crunch as the large bone in Fistandantilus' other leg snapped, the shards shot through his muscles and flesh, exploding outward and tearing his leg apart and shattering his hip. Fistandantilus shrieked in agony and exultation as one of the creatures grasped at his thigh to staunch the flow of blood until the maggot-like skin had a chance to move and reshape over it, sealing the wound. Another creature, a small, crab-like thing, scurried over the surface of the table to lap at the sticky blood while it was still fresh.

A moment later it scuttled to the edge of the slab, shuddered, and fell to the floor dead.

Lucky for it, Ariallah thought again as the last twitch of one of its legs finally ended.

This had gone on for hours, maybe days. Ariallah had lost all sense of time in this place. The pile of dead, tick-like things was now almost knee-deep in most parts around the slab; having to constantly come and lap up the viscous blood from the Archlich's body and off the table. The task always resulted in the creature's death.

The humanoid-type beings holding Fistandantilus down as he thrashed would come and go in a seemingly endless supply and the woman could not tell them apart. Perhaps there was only a handful? Or perhaps an army? She had no idea, for they were silent and pale; without faces or eyes or mouths. They were just thin slabs of skin with arms and legs and a stump that resembled a head. They looked like some kind of strange, eerie mannequin and moved like an empty shell of a person without soul or substance.

They stank of foul magic and unnatural life and Ariallah quickly grew to loathe the sight of them. They smelled _wrong_.

 _'How am I any different?'_ she had asked herself more than once.

Just how many times had she asked?

Again, she had no idea, for there was no way to know how long she had been here.

Lifetimes maybe?

At the edges of her awareness, Ariallah realized that time seemed different to her in this place. She did not understand how or why but something was most definitely not right.

Though, to be fair, time really had no meaning to one that was not alive. Perhaps that is what she felt, what she remembered. This body wasn't touched by time anymore. It had halted its slow dying process so the seconds that ticked by were meaningless things and could not be measured or bound by heartbeats.

She pressed her hand to her chest. Did she even have a heartbeat?

 _Something_ thrummed deep inside her breast... but it was no heart.

Again she took a slow, deep breath and her senses reeled from the smell of blood, death, and the tangy, pungent odor of corrosive things. Perhaps it was best not to breathe right now, for the smells nearly made her gag. But even in that, she didn't, for it was just the memory of how her body would have once reacted.

For the first time since being brought here Ariallah finally looked down at herself, at this physical form she inhabited.

Clothed in wisps of strange black cloth that had the texture of silky gauze and spider webs, her skin was white and nearly translucent. The backs of her hands were marred in blue veins as she flexed them slowly, savoring the feel of _movement_. She looked at the wall next to her, the obsidian was polished to a dark, mirror-like sheen and she could clearly see herself.

She looked like the woman known as Yurielle.

But, her pretty heart-shaped face was pale and veined in dark lines around the edges of her hairline and around her eyes. Those indigo eyes that had once been identical to her twins now had a strange, cloudy appearance to them. Like a recently dead fish left to float in water for too long. She recalled having freckles once as a little girl as she studied this new, adult face. But upon closer inspection, they were so faded that they looked like flecks of gray, silverish dust on her pallid, corpse-like flesh.

Ariallah saw that her hair was still auburn, but the red of it seemed brighter than she recalled. Unnatural and harsh as if the shade had been soaked in blood rather than in the dark rich tones of earth and soil. Perhaps it was just the lighting here, for everything was washed in strange, unnatural hues that made some colors brighter and some darker.

Or, perhaps it was her new eyes...

Unsettled by this thought she ran her fingers through her long hair. The ends of the matted strands were still midnight black, so very different from her twins.

Black for death and black because she was bound to _him_...

Ariallah shook her head to banish the strange whispers that floated in the dark around her and continued to examine her appearance. The whispers had been coming and going during these long, lonely hours and though she heard them, she did not understand most of them and had given up trying. They didn't matter right now, for there were other more important things to try and understand.

Examining her face she saw that her nose looked like Yurielle's and her chin was the same. Dark lashes laced around her eyes, framing them identically to the other woman's. Her lips, though tinted blueish, had the same arch and slight pout as her twins'. Even her cheeks dimpled slightly if she attempted to smile.

But there was nothing to smile for, so the flesh remained smooth.

Yes, she _looked_ like Yurielle did now as a grown woman. But Ariallah had never grown up so she herself had never looked like this. That little girl she had once been had died around the age of eight; she had been sucked into the raging, ice-clogged river and drowned. Ariallah could recall the feeling of cold water, of the sound that her body made hitting the rocks beneath the ice while her soul remembered her latest death. She flinched at the sounds of breaking bones in her memory only to realize the crunching sounds were coming from the man on the table as the light from the mirror became more and more intense.

Ariallah sighed and let the feelings and memories go; let any unease or fear she may have disappear. She knew that reliving such things were meaningless and that getting emotional over it would get her nowhere.

She had been but a child then, a sacrifice that needed to be made to maintain the balance.

Yurielle in life. Ariallah in death.

Yurielle to save one soul. Ariallah to... to what?

Like her twin, Ariallah had been born into this world with a purpose, one that she had thought fulfilled. She had cut the cords tying Fistandantilus to the man known as Raistlin Majere. She had done this, she had freed him! Her soul should have been able to finally move on!

Ariallah wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to be caught in Fistandantilus' web, she was supposed to be free by now...

That had been the bargain.

She wasn't meant to live another lifetime, only to be a shadow to the one that had been asked to bring change, the one put here to light the way. It was Yurielle who was tasked with the weight of this new unknown timeline.

Not Ariallah.

The dead twin was simply meant to balance the strange woman's power from within death and once the task of separating the crystallized souls was completed, then she was to be given her final rest.

 _That_ is what Ariallah had agreed to, she was sure of it.

She tried to think then, tried to remember _exactly,_ word for word, what she had agreed to... and to whom. But there was nothing but fog.

Fog and pain and emptiness.

Other memories swirled in her mind, pushing their way through the veil of her most recent death as that small, orphaned child with the beautiful, loving twin. These were older memories of many other lives. She had been a knight once, a dark wizard, a whore, a sailor, a queen, an elf... on and on the memories flooded her suddenly, as if some floodgate had opened. She pressed her eyes closed and rubbed the heels of her hands in her eyes, unconsciously mimicking Yurielle's twitchy habit.

Finally, the torrent of memories ended, leaving a muddy whirlpool of lives and experiences behind.

There were the whispers again and with them came the knowing that this was what being connected to the realm of the dead for so long had done to her - allowed her to recall the things that being reborn usually made a soul forget. She sighed as the strange voices vanished, leaving her mind empty again.

But Ariallah knew that she had not been reborn this time.

This time was different.

Her soul had been torn through the veil, brought here... against her will.

Her dark eyes shot to the screaming man on the marble table. He began laughing again. Soon the sound turned into cries of ecstasy as it appeared that his body was finally nearly the end of his transformation.

Memories swirled again...

She had loved this horrible creature once – the whispers reminded her.

 _That_ lifetime came into sharp focus then. She had been female during that one as well, thousands upon thousands of years ago in another Age of this world. A woman with distant elven heritage, she had risen through the ranks of the day's red-robed wizards and had taken on a promising novice fresh from his Test.

It had proven to be her undoing and her death had fueled an artifact that had taken innumerable lives.

Ariallah had much to atone for. At least, in her mind...

Was that why she was here?

Again she shook her head, for when she tried to recall there was only that fog; thick as cotton in her mind and the whispers all clamored over one another as if _trying_ to tell her something but none of it made sense.

She sighed again, her pale hands running along the webbing of her cage. _'One at a time,'_ she told herself, for she knew this tangle inside her head was nothing but a mass of threads all bound together in one giant knot. It was going to take patience as she pulled one string out after another in order to come to understand things.

She wondered then, what sort of tapestry would be revealed, what story were the whispers trying to tell her?

Whose voice was it doing the whispering?

Finally, Fistandantilus' screaming and the laughing abruptly stopped; his agony at an end. The silence that descended upon the halls after such a long torture was in many ways far, far worse.

Fistandantilus lay there upon the stone slab he had created thousands of years ago, the multicolored veins that represented his goddess webbed beneath him as his body trembled with aftershocks of his laborious rebirth.

Ariallah could see his chest rise and fall, the ribs gliding under pale skin, smooth as a new born babes. At the end of the slab, above his head, lay the ebony Skull that had belonged to his original body. It had then been a phylactery that was his soul's vessel for countless years until a new body was brought to it so this transformation and transference of power could happen in the first place.

Bits of flesh and bone still clung to the Skull's surface and blood still dripped from it to splat on the floor. It was a grisly reminder from when the creatures had torn the phylactery from their master's head, ripping Par-Salian's face off in the process. It hadn't mattered to any of them, for that would not be the face he would wear in this incarnation.

The Skull was empty now, the magic within transferred fully to the new physical home for the soul and power that was once housed within it. Its sockets were both dark; the eerie, otherworldly green glow was now housed inside the human man on the table.

The woman knew that he would use it still. Even empty, the Skull held vast power. It would be his symbol of terror, for even from this distance it radiated with an unholy aura and she could not gaze upon it for very long.

From where she sat upon the cold floor, Ariallah could hear Fistandantilus breathing, could hear his heart hammering in his chest. It echoed in her ears as if it beat within a hollow cavity, keeping a grim rhythm of unnatural, twisted life. Its thrumming was different from what she felt inside her own chest. Ariallah didn't know if this was any comfort to her or not, for at the very least she knew she was not like whatever creature he now was.

Their hearts beat differently and she very much did not want to be whatever he was now.

The mirror at the far side of the room shimmered again and the blurred face of Takhisis suddenly reappeared. A shadow of the seductress then pushed her way through its surface, nothing but an echo of her true power or substance, but still terrible in her perfect visage. The wavering shadow walked to the end of the slab on which the Archlich lay.

Ariallah watched in complete silence as the incorporeal image reached a taloned hand out and tenderly, almost lovingly, ran it down the side of Fistandantilus' body. Her nails raked deep gouges along his pale flesh from shoulder to thigh. Dark blood welled forth, pearling on the pallid skin like glittering rubies in the low light of the chamber.

“ _Very good,”_ her voice floated through the mirror where Ariallah could still see five sets of glowing red eyes. “ _Very good, Fistandantilus,”_ she purred. _“Rise now, my acolyte, and let me have a good look at you.”_

Very slowly the man stirred.

The dead woman on the floor watched as Fistandantilus rose from the slab. The body that had been shaped for him was lean and lanky, not powerfully built but also not in the least bit frail. Though his shoulders were wide and strong, he more resembled a scholar who spent his days studying tomes than a man who did hard labor. Despite this, his body reminded her of a snake, sinuous and taut.

Long, brown hair streaked white at the temples fell down his shoulders and as he turned to dangle his legs off the slab Ariallah finally got a good look at his face.

He looked like Raistlin Majere, only... not.

The shadow of Takhisis caressed the side of his face, palming it in her vast, shadowy hand. _“Good,”_ she said once more. _“This is your last chance, Fistandantilus. Do_ not _fail me again.”_ A light from an unseen source flared on his chest and Ariallah heard him suck in a pain-filled gasp. The sound of a heart beating again filled the cavernous chamber, echoing until the obsidian walls rang with the melody. 

Takhisis drew away with a laugh.

The Archlich bowed his head obediently as the apparition of his goddess vanished back into the mirror and its surface went blank once more. But only Ariallah saw the look of scorn twist his face once Takhisis disappeared. Though similar to Raistlin's in appearance, there were differences between the two men's features. Fistandantilus' face was somehow longer and more angular with a hooked, hawk-like nose and pointed chin. Prominent eyebrows shadowed his sockets and high, angular cheekbones enhanced his sly, cruel appearance.

Despite the almost exaggerated features in comparison to Raistlin Majere's, Fistandantilus was not uncomely - quite the opposite in fact. His was a face that could hypnotize and lure in the unexpected. Like a snake with a rabbit caught in its gaze, very few would be able to escape once snared by his features. And it was plain to see by the expression he shot at the mirror that he had other things on his mind than whatever bargain he had made with the fickle goddess.

It was so very typical of him, Ariallah knew. He cared not for bargains or promises. He never had and never would, for he was above them. Honeyed words and sweet lies were his poison.

And she had once fallen victim to them, same as so many others.

Fistandantilus took a moment to orientate himself to his new form. He ran his hands over his arms, savoring the feel of flesh and muscle and bone again. His long fingers glided down his side where Takhisis had touched him. He pressed his nails into the deep gouges, drawing more blood and pain. The Archlich gave a strangled moan at the sensation as his side quickly became wet with sticky blood. With a cruel smile, he continued to admire his new naked form; the man went so far as to wriggle his toes and a cold chuckle echoed through the room at the act.

It was a sound Ariallah remembered well. He was pleased and did not care what the cost may have been for getting what he wanted.

Fistandantilus was alive and physical; resurrected in a new body shaped by his will with the aid of Takhisis. Suddenly he looked up, his attention solely on the area in which his captive sat.

Their eyes locked and Ariallah, though she didn't need to breathe, felt as if all the air left the room. Her lungs froze, her body chilled to the marrow in her bones as she gazed into those fathomless eyes.

Fistandantilus' left eye still glowed with that strange inner green haze while his right was that deep, soulless brown the woman remembered so well. He stared at her through a curtain of hair, those unsettling eyes holding hers, glittering eerily, like a spider ready to feast.

Suddenly she saw that it was the bloodstone that glowed faintly upon his chest, embedded deep in his breastbone. Even as she watched, Ariallah saw shards of bone jutting out from around it begin to slowly melt back as his pale, maggot colored flesh spread across its edges to hold it securely in place.

Ariallah's ears were sensitive, able to pick up the smallest sound and she realized that she could _still_ hear his heart beating. Now that he was sitting up straighter she saw how the Bloodstone flickered with each pulse; red and green and tainted with oily darkness swirling within.

Her fingers curled around the webbing before her until her knuckles were blue with strain. The thrumming in her chest intensified as her whole existence seemed pulled to that one center point in his chest.

His heartbeat echoed in rhythm with the whispers as they clamored around in her head.

How she wanted to tear that stone from his body!

The feeling surged within her and filled her with the first feeling of hunger she had felt since awakening in this new life.

 _Calm, calm..._ the whispers seemed to say. _Now is not the time..._

Her fingers eased their grip on the webbing; strands of it had bent slightly.

“Ah...” Fistandantilus said finally, that long, predatory face pulling into a nasty leer. “So, you have finally come to.” His voice was deep and cold, silky, and venomous. “How nice of you to join me in my finest hour, my dearest.”

Slowly the Archlich lowered his naked form to the floor. His legs were weaker than he had anticipated and if it hadn't been for the quick reflexes of one his creations still standing nearby he would have fallen.

Fistandantilus stumbled against the being as it held him up. Without warning the Lich grabbed the creature over its heart (if it even had a heart) and squeezed. The sound of rending ribs from muscle tore through the air. The creature's head snapped back and if it had possessed a mouth, it would have screamed.

Ariallah watched, sickened, as Fistandantilus drained the thing of whatever life-essence it had. The Bloodstone flared red, its pulsing light continuing as it sucked the creature dry. Soon the empty shell collapsed to the floor and exploded in a cloud of ash. The second creature fell to its knees beside him, its hands up in supplication as Fistandantilus grabbed it by the face, repeating the process.

“Yes,” he moaned in ecstasy, his head thrown back, his eyes held tightly shut as energy and vitality coursed through his weakened body. The Bloodstone glowed for several heartbeats before going semi-dark and continuing its strange, slow pulsing.

The sound echoed in her ears, threatening to drive Ariallah mad.

“Delicious,” Fistandantilus wiped his mouth and turned again towards the woman in the corner.

Slowly the Archlich made his way across the floor to her, the faint light of the chamber illuminating his body as he walked. Ribbons of multicolored light danced along the ridges of his bones and muscles in hypnotizing patterns. Fistandantilus seemed neither ashamed nor bothered by his nakedness, nor was he concerned with the wounds that still bled freely from the gashes Takhisis had given him. Within moments he neared Ariallah's cage and with a flick of his hand, the spider-thin webbing between them folded back to allow him entry into her holding cell.

Ariallah refused to stand. Instead, she sat calmly, her hands folded on her knees as the monster entered. Her eyes held his, unblinking and unafraid.

Fistandantilus cocked his head to the side and said in a voice that was much deeper than Raistlin's and very much as Ariallah remembered from their previous life together, “My dear,” he purred darkly, “are you not happy to see me?”

She did not answer, only glared defiantly.

Without warning he was before her, his actions so quick that it would have been hard for a mortal so see the viper fast movement. But Ariallah saw it, she sensed the magic he called forth as his bone sharp fingers grabbed her by the chin and squeezed. Hard.

Ariallah winced at the contact, his touch was unexpectedly hot against her cold skin. She could feel his blood pulse through his fingertips, drumming with with his heartbeat and vibrating through her jaw. Before she could think about the meaning behind what his living touch felt like, magic unlike anything she knew rippled along her skin, across her face, and down her body in an obtrusive wave. She imagined she could see it, for it felt like oily water across her flesh, leaving behind a taint she would never be able to scrub off.

“Pretty... I _suppose_ ,” he drawled after a few moments of inspecting her features. “But you look like _her..._ ” 

His mismatched eyes studied her and Ariallah felt as if her skin would crawl off her bones as that magic prodded her body as if trying to find a way inside her being and learn her secrets.

“That little bird of _his_...” he mused as he ran a thumb along her lower lip. “It's interesting, is it not? That we take their visages in these new forms of ours... I will be honest though, I liked the face you had when I murdered you-”

Ariallah said nothing, only jerked her head out of his hands with one motion and in another spit in his face.

Fistandantilus' breath hissed as he wiped cold saliva off his face.

She didn't see him strike her, only felt his razor-sharp nails cut her across the face as he backhanded her, drawing blood. Ariallah slammed against the side of the cell; her arms barely had time to cushion the impact. If she were mortal, the blow would have knocked her senseless if not unconscious, so strong was it. But somehow her new body was just as fast as his and she managed to stop herself from breaking her face against the wall just in time.

Ariallah saw reflected within the glassy surface how he had cut her with his nails. Dark red blood dripped down her face but already her flesh was mending along her cheek, the blood soaked back into her skin like a sponge.

And what was more was that it hadn't hurt.

She felt the impact but no pain.

What an interesting development.

...Lucky for her?

Before she could absorb any of this new development and decide if she was lucky or not, her body froze as Fistandantilus' fingers suddenly began playing with her hair. The butterfly soft touch was worse than his magic along her skin or the way his flesh felt as if it had burned her. Much worse. Suppressing a shudder, for she refused to give him the satisfaction, Ariallah turned to him as he slowly ran the lock through his hand until he came to the black ends.

“I remember hearing your sister tell once of a twin with black ends to her hair. The irony is not lost on me as it may have been to Raistlin Majere...” He leaned back down to her, his face mere inches away. His breath stank of rot and Ariallah was glad she did not need to breathe as her airways instinctively closed off to keep the stench from entering her body.

“How did you escape the Bloodstone, my dear?” he asked, his fist tightening on her hair and pulling her head back at a compromising angle to expose her neck. “How is it that it was _you,_ out of the countless souls I've taken, that became such a thorn in my side?”

Ariallah glared at him, her dark eyes flashing with unmistakable hatred.

“Come now, dear,” he said as his other hand ran softly down her neck. “Your silence wounds me.” He stopped the caress midway, the tips of his fingers pressing to feel for a life beat. He frowned when something fluttered and Ariallah saw a slight flicker of confusion in his eyes.

He didn't know what she was either! The whispers hummed with excitement inside her head.

Drawing away, Fistandantilus released her with a sudden jerk of his hand and returned to the doorway as another creature appeared. It held a dark robe out to him; its body held low in a bow of reverence.

“Though I do not understand what exactly you _are_ in this form, I am quite sure that you are capable of speech,” he said as he took the fabric. “I don't know about you, but so long without a physical throat of my own I find the feel of speaking quite pleasant,” he continued as he shrugged the robe on. Closing it and fastening it, he stood once more in front of her. He stared down at her, his dark eyes - one lit eerily from within - regarded her with a look of awe and irritation in equal measures.

“How did you escape the stone?” he asked again, his hand going to his still exposed chest as long fingers caressed the surface of his precious Bloodstone in the same manner he had just touched her neck.

“No...” he said, his head cocked to the side in puzzlement, his gaze turned inward. A slow, dark smile spread across that angular face, twisting the thin lips into a terrible grin. “ _There_ you are!” he said and pressed the stone.

Pain unimaginable flared behind her eyes and Ariallah could not suppress the scream that tore through her throat. The wall next to her cracked at the sound, lines shot across the wall and tiny shards of obsidian glass tinkled on the floor as they flaked off.

“Ah yes,” he sighed and dropped his hand away from the stone. “I remember that sound. Delicious...”

Ariallah sat panting on the floor. Already the pain was gone, leaving behind just the faint echo of agony. Her eyes shot up to his, pouring all her hate into the look she gave him.

Fistandantilus wasn't paying any attention to her. Instead, he studied the damage to the wall. “Your twin's magic is focused through her voice,” he said as he picked at the broken shards with a long finger. The pieces clattered to the floor like rain.

“I wonder... Is your magic still the same as hers?” His eyes darted back to her and she flinched as if he had thrown daggers through her. He sneered again. “I doubt so,” he said at last. “You would not waste such an opportunity to use it against me.”

Again his head cocked to the side and Ariallah wanted nothing more than to tear the hair from his head as he lowered himself to the floor to kneel beside her.

“What are you?” he whispered, his voice somehow soft and confused as his hands floated between them as if he would touch her again. “I pulled you from the other side, from the place you somehow escaped to. But what _is_ this form you take? It is not like my other creations...”

His gaze went to his hands and he turned them slowly to study his palms. Those eyes were cold mirrors as he gazed upon the ridges and valleys as if seeing hands for the very first time. “This magic that I have tapped into is indeed strange and new...” Slowly a smile slithered across his features. “Such wondrous things I shall do and create and achieve!” he said to himself. Suddenly he added with a dark chuckle, “All for the glory of Takhisis of course!”

He sneered and Ariallah knew it was a lie.

“Such wonderful, new, dark magic...” he whispered again and Ariallah did not miss how he began to tremble just slightly. Suddenly his demeanor shifted, his eyes darted back to her and again he studied her as if she were something on one of his dissecting tables.

“So, this twin of yours has the wild magic but you do not?” he asked, his thoughts returning to his earlier line of questions. He paused as if waiting for her to respond but Ariallah knew that he did not expect her to answer. He was merely talking to himself in that irritating way she recalled he used to do.

“You had it, once, if the memories I carry from Raistlin Majere are correct. The little bird watched you die but not before you flung her away with your voice. Is that truly the case? Or did you always only have the arcane?” Again his head tilted to the side, spilling the long brown hair over his shoulder to fall across his chest. It stuck to the wet fabric of his black robe where the blood had soaked through.

He nodded. “You _do_ have a magic about you,” he mused to himself. “But it, like mine, is different. As different as you and I are from one another, my dear. Though unexpected and unique, you are my most precious creation thus far...”

Ariallah winced internally at these words. He had made her? But how? Ripping a soul from the other side was an easy task for a necromancer such as Fistandantilus. But to come through and appear inside a fully formed physical body... this was all together different and apparently something he had not expected.

He spoke of tapping into new, dark magic...

“You will be my instrument, my right hand of death, -one of many- that I shall use to bring this world to its knees!” he declared suddenly, the sound of his voice brought Ariallah out of her thoughts and above the low murmur of whispers in her head.

Again he reached out a hand and softly touched a strand of her hair between them, his fingers lingering on the black ends, a smile on his lips as if he knew of some joke she did not. His eyes flicked back to hers, trapping her in their web. They bore through her, stripping her down to her core but still, Ariallah refused to bend even as his gaze left her exposed.

“If you are to be my instrument, I must come to understand you... What are you?” he asked again, releasing her hair. “There is no need to be stubborn. I will get the information, one way or another.”

Finally, he sighed when she gave him only a glare that clearly conveyed that he go to the Abyss.

“Mysteries, mysteries.” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth with displeasure. “But, rest assured I will unravel them eventually. Are you not curious as to what you are? Surely you realize you are not _alive_. Or is it that you know something?” His eyes narrowed dangerously with the suspicion that she was hiding some key piece of information to this strange riddle of her existence.

Perhaps he thought her new form was actually her doing? Did he not control this new magic as well as he thought? These were interesting whispers and Ariallah took notice of them.

“You escaped the Bloodstone without my knowing,” he tapped a long finger on his pointed chin, “yet you remain bound to it, to me. Do you have any theories? I would so love to hear your thoughts...” He waited a few moments for her to answer, even looked at her expectantly this time.

Ariallah saw the gears behind those mirror-like eyes working, weaving a thousand thoughts at once in a brain that knew what it was to wait and be patient. She couldn't look away from those depths and soon all she saw was a swirling void of nothingness inside of them; dark and black and green, all tainted with oily shadows. However tempting it was to confess she knew nothing of what had happened to make her this way, Ariallah managed to resist and keep silent.

After several tense moments Fistandantilus shook his head, breaking the spell.

“Your will is strong,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “But, my dearest, we used to share _everything_ with one another. Our knowledge,” his hand shot out again to grab her chin, “our magic. Even our bodies...” He smirked. “Do you remember that?”

Again his fingers ran along her face, leaving trails of burning heat where he touched. His eyes studied her as if he could not make up his mind about her. “Do you remember how we filled those nights with pleasure? I remember it my mysterious, dearest one...”

Finally, Ariallah could not suppress the shudder that ran up her spine.

His nearness was too much, his words dug at ancient memories and wounds that time had no power to erase.

Fistandantilus grinned then, cold and malevolent as he thoroughly enjoyed her discomfort. “Such a waste of time and energy, _that_ ,” he frowned with mock disinterest. “But... I suppose it had its merits,” he added, his eyes roaming down her neck and body, barely hidden by the strange gauzy cloth.

The silence was deafening until his voice cut through it. “Would you like to do that again?” His eyes flicked back to hers; a look in them that she did indeed remember.

“Touch me and you die!” she growled, her voice was flat and resonate, an echoing version of Yurielle's.

Fistandantilus threw his head back and laughed.

It reverberated through the cell and rang down the corridors. Raspy and hollow, the sound brought the creatures waiting outside to their knees.

“Finally!” he cried in triumph as if he had just won some game that only he played. “ _There_ is the spark of fire that I remember! Good! I would have hated if Raistlin Majere got the fiery one and I the useless milksop!” He continued to grin at her once his mirth passed, his thin lips twisted in a crooked sneer.

Releasing her with another flick of his hand, Fistandantilus stood.

“What am I to call you in this life?” he suddenly asked, staring down at her where she had landed against the wall again. “I must confess, I do not remember your original name and I did not pay attention to his bird when she sang it beneath Skullcap.”

“Her name,” Ariallah said, hate seething in her voice, “is Yurielle. And you will remember it before you die.”

Fistandantilus merely shrugged.

Turning, he exited her cell and with a wave of his hand the indestructible webbing reformed to again keep her from leaving. If he noticed the small threads that she had bent with her fingers, he made no indication.

“No matter,” he said in that deep, smooth voice. “It has been many centuries since I have walked these halls. I must see what remains of my domain. Much has happened, a Cataclysm being one of them,” he sighed in irritation, “I expect no end of mess to have to clean before my subjects arrive and we begin our grand task.” He looked down at her again, the green light in his one eye gleamed at her. “I will return soon, my dear. I do hope you will be more in a mood to talk when I do.”

Ariallah watched him leave, his dark velvet robes swished softly against the dusty floor as he walked. The soft hissing of it echoed around her while inside her head the whispers continued to tell her secrets that she didn't understand.

Returning to the corner of her cell Ariallah pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes in attempts to still the whispers. They slowly obeyed but she heard the sound of velvet swaying long after Fistandantilus disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/16/20: Okay I hope this chapter made up for the cliffhanger I teased last week! I am no George RR Martin so this POV switching thing has been an interesting challenge to deal with and get right! I'm constantly going over planned chapters and shifting them around so they fall in the right places to *hopefully* make the story more impactful and interesting in the long run.  
> I also hope this chapter wasn't too much as far as unsettling and disturbing goes. But when dealing with Fistandantilus, the creep factor is dialed up to 11.  
> Can anyone guess the D&D villain I am using as inspiration for my version of Fistandantilus?  
> +20 nerd points if you get it right :D  
> I need to either update or write another bit for my thoughts and discussions so I can delve into that idea and explain my reasons if people are interested in learning more.  
> Anyway, thanks again for reading. You all are awesome!


	11. The Calm Before...

The day dawned bright and pure with promises of fair weather and sunshine.

Tika smiled as she wrapped a still-warm loaf of bread in a clean cloth and gently placed it in the basket with the other items she had prepared. A small wheel of cheese, a bag of dried figs and nuts, smoked fish wrapped in their own cloth, a jar of honey butter, and several hard-boiled eggs nestled beside a small crock jug of last fall's apple cider all corked and ready to go. She had paid a kind white-robed mage a couple of steel pieces to enchant a few containers for the Inn to keep on hand for special occasions through winter's long months.

Well, today was going to be special and Tika knew that old Otik would not mind if she had pilfered just one small jug's worth to treat her family. The cider promised to be as fresh as the day it was pressed and would not have fermented due to the magic. It was one of the rare instances that Tika grudgingly agreed magic had its uses.

Next to her in his wooden bassinet, baby Palin cooed delightedly as he chewed on a toy held in his tiny hands. He kicked his feet in the air as his mother worked, content to watch her busy herself while he drooled on his apron.

Tika kissed the air as she passed him; in her hands, she held a pie made with the last of their preserved fruits. Humming a kender baking song as she worked, Tika took stock once more that everything was in order for today.

It was a tradition for her to bring in the new spring by clearing out the pantry of what remained and Caramon loved nothing more than when she'd make one of her berry pies - if there were enough fruit left that is. This year there had been an ample supply and Tika swore that her husband didn't eat any fruit last winter just to save them for her and this moment. She shook her head as she started to wrap the pie in another cloth but stopped when Palin, waving his toy a little too enthusiastically, caused it to go flying out of his small grip to land right next to the baked good.

“Oh, you silly boy!” Tika laughed and scooped him up with one arm and with the other handed him back the wooden rattle. “You almost ruined daddy's pie!”

Palin squealed as she bounced him on her hip while making her way across the kitchen into the living room. Reaching the stairs that followed the curve of the tree which held their house, Tika looked up into the loft and yelled, “BOYS! Get dressed and wash your faces!” She didn't say why because she knew their curiosity would be enough to at least get them out of bed. The woman smiled again when she heard several thuds against the floor above her head.

Now to get their father.

***

The soft click of the bedroom door pulled him from sleep.

Caramon groaned and blinked his eyes furiously as sunlight streamed in through the window and hit him straight in the face.

“What's goin' on?” he mumbled and rolled over to get away from the offensive light. The bed next to him was empty but that wasn't unusual. Tika normally got up before him so he pulled her half of the blankets over himself and tried very hard to go back to sleep.

Suddenly, a small weight plopped down on the bed next to him, upsetting his warm nest. The disturbance was followed by an infant's giggle as tiny, saliva-soaked hands suddenly began to yank at his exposed hair.

“Hey, Palin...” he said sleepily, ignoring the fact that soon he'd have no hair if he didn't attempt to untangle himself from the child's vice-like grip. The big man smiled as his youngest got closer, falling on top of him and pulled off the blanket, all the while jabbering noises that only babies knew the meanings of.

The infant's presence always soothed Caramon and he suddenly was reminded of the dream he had the night before last. He had finally gone to bed, heart-sick and ashamed after Tika had poured out all of his flasks only to wake the next morning with the smell of spell components lingering on the edges of his awareness. Caramon knew then, that wherever he was, Raistlin was still alive and the nightmares, for now, had stopped.

“Argh! Why are you so covered in spit?” Caramon groaned again when Palin abandoned his quest to make his father bald and instead, started smacking his tiny hands against his scruffy cheek, instantly making his face sticky.

“He's teething,” Tika giggled from her spot next to the bed where she had been standing in silent observation of her husband and child. “Another tooth finally broke through,” she added and joined them, rearranging her skirts as she settled on the bed's surface.

“That's my boy!” Caramon grinned, flashing his own teeth at his son as he rolled over and scooped the boy into his arms to bounce him on his stomach a few times before sitting up. Blowing a loud kiss against the baby's cheek, the act always caused the child to scream with delight, Caramon then turned to Tika.

Leaning over, she kissed her husband. “Good morning. Did you sleep better last night?”

Caramon smiled. “Good morning and yes, I did,” he said, his deep voice still rough with sleep.

Tika ran her hands along his stubble-filled jaw before kissing him again. “Get up and get ready,” she commanded in her motherly tone that left no room for arguments. “I have a surprise for you and the boys today,” she said with a smile.

Caramon's eyes widened when he caught the scent of baked goods clinging to her hair when she pulled away. “Is that...?” He pulled her back closer and baby Palin between them gave a happy squeal as he now busied himself with tugging on Caramon's nightshirt.

“Is that _pie_ I smell?!”

Tika laughed. “No, Palin needs a change. Of _course_ it's pie!” she said, reaching for the baby. “It's tradition and today is going to be a beautiful day!”

“But we're supposed to be back at the Inn today,” Caramon said, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes. Not that he wanted to argue with his wife, he just thought he'd better point that out just in case she had forgotten.

“Otik gave us one more day to spend at home,” Tika explained, still smiling. “Plus, I figured we should celebrate,” she added quietly as she righted Palin against the crook of her hip and smoothed his fine, auburn-tinted hair with her hand. “You've gone two days now with no drink.”

Caramon got out of bed and came to her side. Silently he wove one of her fiery locks around his finger.

Tika looked up at him and met his warm gaze. His usually brownish hazel irises were so soft and loving that they appeared almost blue today in the morning light.

“I love you,” he whispered, unable to say anything else.

“I love you too.” She grinned then added, “Now hurry up, the pie is getting cold and,” she turned her head and they both could clearly hear loud thumps as two sets of feet started tearing down the steps, hell-bent to find out what secrets their mother held from them, “if you dilly dally any longer there won't be any left! I'm sure those boys of yours are hungrier than a bear fresh out of its den.”

His heart ready to burst, Caramon swiftly kissed his wife before she disappeared through the door to shoo their other two children away from her carefully packed basket. He pulled off his nightshirt and washed his face with water from the pitcher next to the bed to the music of his wife's voice and the excited chatter of children just learning they were going on a picnic and spending the day outside.

The comforting sounds of those he loved eased the pain in his head. On other mornings the big man would have chased the dull throb away with a quick and secret swig from one of his many hidden flasks. But Tika had seen to it that there were no flasks left so there would to be no quick fix this day as his body adjusted to lack of liquor.

But, to Caramon, making his wife happy was more important today than giving in to the never-ending give and take the drink offered him. He would muscle through the lingering grip of his addiction that had haunted him for so long. Its claws weren't so deep now, not like they were years ago when his relief came from liquid that could blind a lesser man than Caramon Majere with one sip.

He promised Tika he would try and so, try he would. As he dressed and the sun spilled over the mountains to fully illuminate the growing buds and leaves on the trees outside, Caramon knew that things were looking up.

This was going to be a spring to remember.

***

“ROAR!!” bellowed the big man loud enough to be heard across Crystalmir Lake.

“Get him!” yelled the oldest boy Tanin, waving a long stick in the air. “I'll block his way. Sturm, you climb on top of him and pin him down! I'll get the rope, we gotta protect the town!”

Tika smiled from her spot on the blanket as she watched two of her boys wrestle their father to the ground in another game of 'Owlbear and Knights'. Tanin was already a natural-born leader and well-spoken for a child barely five years old. And the lighthearted Sturm took direction with the kind of loyalty she expected from a son of Caramon Majere. The two of them were inseparable, as close as twins, and got into no end of trouble with one another.

Next to her, Palin had crawled to the edge of the blanket and was busying himself with pulling out the new tufts of grass with his little hands. He squealed and giggled as he threw clumps of dirt through the air and watched as the grains fell back to the ground.

Tika shook her head good-naturedly as she watched her family play. They were all full of green stains and dirt smudges and it would be a long night of fighting them to take their baths, but it was worth it.

Today had been a good day.

The sound of laughter pulled her from her thoughts and Tika watched as Caramon played dead under the weight of his kids. The two boys jumped off him and were doing a celebration dance worthy of great heroes that soon turned to shrieks as the big man reared up again as an undead abomination to seek his revenge.

The boys scattered in different directions to then regroup and plan how to deal with this new menace. They soon disappeared into the rushes that surrounded the edges of Crystalmir Lake. The plants weren't very tall yet so their mother could still see them plainly as they sought a new hiding spot. She knew that Caramon could see them as well but he pretended not to as he lurched around, doing his best impression of something risen from the grave.

Tika laughed at how ridiculous it looked as the boys reddish-brown curls were bright as torches in the afternoon sun, her lumbering husband meandering along the lake's edge in playful search of them. Next to her, Palin let out a another happy screech as a fuzzy caterpillar had caught his attention. The baby watched, wide eyed and enthralled as the bug disappeared into the taller grass and new flowers that bloomed next to their picnic spot.

A few minutes later Caramon plopped down next to Tika and Palin with a loud grunt.

“Those boys will be the death of me,” he winced and rubbed a spot on his ribs where one of them had inadvertently kneed him. “I'm getting too old to be rolling around on the ground...”

“Too old or too big?” Tika grinned with a wink.

He chuckled and helped himself to another slice of berry pie and soon had to share it with Palin who had crawled over to put his hands in it, smearing filling all over himself and the blanket.

Tika sighed.

“You're all going to need baths,” she complained. “I hope you're prepared to help me with the task.”

“I'll just give everyone a good dunk in the lake before we leave,” Caramon grinned at her. “I hope you brought soap,” he said and Tika didn't miss the twinkle in his eyes. She knew he meant every member of the family, including her.

“That water is still far too cold!” She was right. The lake was frigid yet, being filled with runoff from the melted snow from the nearby Sentinel Peaks. Tika tried to scowl at Caramon pantomiming that he was heaving a large object into the lake but her face betrayed her and she smiled at his antics. “Besides, maybe after we get the boys cleaned up and tucked in,” she said when he returned to eating his snack, “we'll make good use of the new washtub ourselves.”

“Sponge baths are always fun,” Caramon grinned in that charismatic way that always sent Tika's stomach to fluttering. “Thank you for this,” he added a few minutes later once his piece of pie was finished and the baby was as clean as he was going to get (for now). “I really needed it.”

Caramon watched as his wife's cheeks flushed red.

“You're welcome,” she said softly. “So did I.”

He loved this steadfast woman, one he once thought an ungainly, awkward creature in their youths. Now he thanked Paladine every day for the blessings and joy her presence brought to him. She was strong and beautiful, with fire red curls and soft, warm skin peppered with countless freckles.

Once thief turned warrior, now wife turned mother, Tika Waylan Majere was the only thing that mattered to Caramon and was his only comfort through all the dark nights.

And he loved her so very, very much.

“I wanted to do something special for you and the boys,” she said as she started folding up the soiled napkins. “The winter was long and this spring hard on you. In a couple of weeks, the Spring Dawning Fest will happen and I know how melancholy you get around then. I just wanted to give you a bright spot before all that to maybe help carry you through it,” she explained, her eyes downcast as she worked to repack their things.

She paused when Caramon's finger rested against her chin. Tilting her head up, their gazes locked.

“There's more to it than that, isn't there...?” he asked, knowing that her keeping her eyes averted and hands busy was just a way to hide something.

Tika swallowed and nodded.

“Tell me,” he said softly. His eyes for a moment left hers to scan the lakeshore, instinctively looking for his two other children. He didn't need to look far, for they had abandoned their owlbear hunting and were instead playing in the sand by the water's edge.

“I wanted you to remember that you have a family,” Tika said softly, still putting things into the large picnic basket beside them. “A family here and now, not one that is in the past...”

Caramon's heart constricted in his chest; had he really sunk so low that he had allowed Tika to relive the days when they had first been married? When she had spent nights alone and crying while he drank away his pain and their money in shady taverns on the edges of town.

Guilt and regret twisted his stomach at the memory. He had been so lost in his despair after losing Raistlin that he had forgotten what was right in front of him. Their family may have been larger if not for the stress and pain they were both going through at the time. Caramon swallowed hard at the knowing Tika had miscarried during that first summer. But what made the guilt worse was that he knew she didn't know that he knew.

It was a secret they kept from each other.

The shame that he had put her through that much pain when all she wanted was a family still stung him to this day. In his mind, it was Caramon's biggest failure and his weakness that the drink still, after all these years, kept pulling him back.

This time would be different.

“I know, Tika,” Caramon said softly, his hand on her thigh made her pause in packing the basket. Slowly her eyes met his. Gathering her skirt in his hand he clung to her as he said, “But I miss Raistlin.”

Caramon watched as Tika's eyes hardened slightly. He knew she hated his twin. Most people did. But the big man could never bring himself to hate the fragile man he had shared a womb with, for he knew and remembered all the good things that existed in Raistlin. Or, more to the fact, the good things that _once_ existed there. That was the man Caramon missed and he had yet come to terms with the loss.

“I miss him,” he repeated, ignoring her scowl. “But, you are right, Tika. Raistlin is his own person and living his own life. He doesn't need me, wherever he is. _You_ need me. You and the boys and Solace, you all need me. I know this,” he said. “It's hard but, I'm trying, I really am. I don't know why I can't let him go...” he confessed.

Tika sighed, all anger melted away. “He's your brother,” she said softly. “That's why.”

Their gazes locked again.

“I never liked him,” she said suddenly. “Nor how he treated you. You have far too big of a heart, Caramon Majere. It's too easy for you to be able to forgive how he used you and then abandoned you - not once, but twice.”

“Tika-”

“No, Caramon,” she interrupted. “I need to say this. Six years now I've held this in. Well, no longer.” She clenched her jaw and took a breath; her body became rigid as she braced herself to say the words she had so long wanted to say.

“He scared me,” she began quickly, almost forcing the words out. “Not just his magic or his strange appearance after his Test. Raistlin was _terrifying_...” She shuddered visibly. “ _Especially_ after his Test. There was something dark about him; changed from the man I remembered before you all left for five years. I was young then, but I can remember the two of you and the others when you'd come into the Inn for food and drinks. I'd even see you both around town or down by Flint's or when you'd train with Sturm or Tanis,” Tika said.

“Raistlin used to smile then,” she continued. “He used to at least _attempt_ to be agreeable once in a while when it suited him. Did you know that he would show me illusions sometimes if I asked him nicely?”

Caramon shook his head. No, he didn't know that. He never knew that Raistlin and her had ever spoken a word to one another in those days.

“He didn't scare me then, Caramon. But when you returned to meet everyone that fateful Autumn...” she shook her head, “He was not Raistlin anymore and whatever was left was a hollow man bent on power and drunk on magic and secrets.”

Caramon watched her, his eyes wide as she spoke; his own mind going back to those days. Tika was younger than them, by almost six years in fact, and when the Companions had left Solace she was nothing but a stick of a child. She was all knobby knees and willowy body with an awkward face just starting to be kissed by womanhood that would soon shape her. Caramon had once thought her the most annoying and ugly girl he had ever encountered. How wrong he had been when they had returned and she had blossomed into this stunning and strong woman that went on to steal his heart and became his lover.

“I was scared for you too,” she added softly as she continued her story, “for I saw that you refused to recognize how your brother had changed. And I saw how deep he had dug his selfish claws into you.”

Caramon went to open his mouth but Tika kept speaking, unable to stop her words now. His jaw snapped shut as his wife's confessions poured over him, allowing him to see everything from her perspective.

“Your brother was poisoning you, Caramon, and I wish you could see that!” she said, her voice full of passion. “He _used_ you as his slave and never said thank you, never even acknowledged you until he needed something from you. I saw his eyes sometimes, how he'd watch you with a loathing that froze my blood.”

“Raistlin needed me...” he said pathetically.

Tika shook her head. “He didn't feel the same about you, Caramon. He didn't love you as you loved him! As _I_ loved you! All he wanted was his magic and to grow stronger. When he spoke of it, it was the only warmth in him and I knew that he would eventually grind you into the dirt and walk over your empty corpse to get more power.” She had twisted one of the napkins in her hands as she spoke; her knuckles turning white from the strain.

“What he did was a mercy, Caramon. He let you go because somewhere in that black heart he knew that to keep you near would kill you. I guess I should be grateful for that...” She took a deep breath and blew it out to try and regain control of herself. “I suppose maybe that was his final act of mercy, that he had some sense of decency somewhere inside him still to care enough to not outright kill you. But the hole he left in you is so vast that even children and a wife are but a drop in the bucket to try to fill it.

“I watched you write your letters to him through the years,” she added softly, now meeting his gaze. “I know you poured your heart and soul into those words and he never wrote you back, not once. You will never know the countless nights, Caramon, that I sat up and listened to you talk in your sleep; how you'd relive conversations and happy times from your youth.” She raised her hands in the air and made shapes with her fingers.

Caramon knew instantly what shape she made due to her long fingers making shapes of tall ears. He closed his eyes when he saw a rabbit on the wall of their shabby childhood home and again heard his brother crying.

It had been but another one of his recurring dreams lately...

“I know you do this for the boys to make them smile...” she continued sadly, watching his face and seeing his reaction, “but knowing you once did it for _him_ makes it painful.”

Her silence brought his gaze back to her and he found her staring absently across the lake at nothing, the sunlight glinted on her hair, had kissed her skin to a pretty pink hue this day. Her green eyes sparkled with a deep, inner sadness.

“How can I compare to such a force?” she whispered as her hands idly played with the hem of her new dress. “I have no magic of my own. I only have my heart, soul, and my body - all three I have given to you fully and _still,_ your brother gets between us. Still, he haunts you in your dreams where I cannot reach...” A tear rolled down her freckled cheek. It sparkled in the sun before falling away.

“I almost lost you once to his shadow and this winter when I found the first flask of wine I-” she sobbed and tried to smother it with her hand but was unable to stop the surge of emotions. “I saw everything we've worked so hard on start to unravel before me. Again! All because of that _brother_ of yours!” she ended with a strangled sound that wasn't quite a hiss and more a painful intake of breath.

“Tika, I...” Caramon began but there really wasn't anything he could say to all that. He had his suspicions of what she thought of his twin – of what all their friends thought of him. They never talked about him to his face, or of their dislike for Raistlin, but Caramon wasn't as dumb as they all thought. He sensed the animosity and distrust the others had for his brother and he knew that they did not approve of their unhealthy relationship as it had grown darker through the years.

But they didn't understand. No one could... No one had been beside Raistlin through the hard times. No one had seen what he had gone through in the days after his Test, how he had nearly died several times and how his body was shattered worse than it ever had been. His twin needed him.

Yes, Caramon saw how Raistlin had used him. Yes, he saw that his bitter twin had taken advantage of Caramon's kindness and willingness to help him. But there had been no one else to help Raistlin, no one else to protect him and comfort him when his dark nightmares got too bad...

Raistlin was still human, still a man who, though rare, showed a wide range of emotions. And, more importantly, none ever saw or could even suspect that Raistlin Majere did indeed have a heart and could be kind in his own way.

They all mocked the red-robed wizard in Xak Tsaroth when he charmed the gully dwarf Bupu. They thought it hilarious but Caramon had seen it for what it was. Raistlin may have charmed the small woman but it had been his kindness and respect he showed towards her that had kept her with them after the spell had worn off. Raistlin knew the suffering of others that were overlooked, of those no one acknowledged as being worth their time. Only Caramon overheard their parting words and saw how his brother had been moved as he watched the gully dwarf return to her people.

Raistlin understood the weak and helpless, the castoffs that no one else paid attention to.

Caramon knew that Raistlin had a heart and this knowledge was what made everyone else's view of his twin so painful.

And this was why it was so hard to let him go.

Somewhere, deep down, Caramon knew that Raistlin's heart was buried beneath the snide remarks and cold dismissals. Even at Raistlin's worst, even after he donned the black robes, the big twin clung to the belief that maybe, someday, Raistlin would rediscover that forgotten heart and remember what he used to be before the magic consumed him.

And Caramon would be there waiting if that ever were to happen.

“I know,” he finally said after putting his thoughts in order. People often thought him slow or stupid because of his habit of over-analyzing everything from every angle. He was the last one to reach a conclusion but it was not for the lack of wisdom or understanding.

“I agree with you, Tika, I really do,” he said. “I've come to see that Raistlin left me behind because his path was not mine.” He reached a hand out and tucked one of her wild curls behind her ear. “My path is here. Here in Solace with you and the children. Raist saw it...” His chest constricted again when he said his twins' nickname.

“He's gone,” he said after a few more moments of sifting through his thoughts, “and probably never coming back. His life is his and this is mine.” He ran his hand down her arm to take her hand in his. “And though I know this in my heart I cannot ignore the bond we still have, Tika. I still have dreams of him, can still sense when he's in trouble or in pain. It was bad,” his voice caught, “so very bad those nights ago. I thought he had died...”

Tika shuddered at the memory of Caramon's screams. Of how he had woken up from a dead sleep and nearly emptied the Inn of its patrons with his terrified, agonized cries. He claimed he had no memory of what he dreamed once he became fully awake, but the hidden images then began to bleed over into his other dreams, quickly souring Caramon's spirit more and more as the days went on. This kind of occurrence had happened to one degree or another as the last several months had passed.

And if Tika could hedge a guess, she would have said that _something_ was going on with Raistlin and that somehow it was bleeding over into Caramon. The bigger twin was without the magic his other half wielded but there was something undeniable about his ability to sense when something was happening to his twin.

She sighed again and pressed her lips to her husband's hand. “I'll help you through this, Caramon. Though I can't understand it all... I'll listen,” she promised. “Please don't hide things from me anymore. Not your thoughts and not your bad habits. I want to help you be free of them both...”

A lump filled Caramon's throat and he was about to pull her to him if not for the small baby that had then decided to plop between them and start crying. A moment later the other two boys arrived, dirt-streaked and somehow stinking of algae and fish and complaining that they were hungry again.

Setting their conversation aside, Tika and Caramon turned their attention to the boys. After finishing off the rest of what was packed in the basket, they all played one more round of 'Kender-Keep-Away' before finally heading home and arriving just as the sun began dancing on the edge of the mountains on the horizon.

***

The sky had begun to turn dusty blue with sunset when the Majere family returned home. Their tree rose up before them as they neared and resting against the base of the tree, nearly completely hidden in shadows, sat the old woman's small hut. Outside as usual lay her wolf, its gray fur so aged and matted it was now almost completely white. Caramon nodded towards it as they passed when it raised its large head and gave them one wave of recognition with its tail. Of Weird Meggin there was no sign besides the glow of hearth beyond the window.

Tika never understood why Caramon did it, why he acknowledged the strange wolf, it was just a dumb animal after all, no smarter than a well-trained dog. They rounded the tree and began their ascent to their home when a flash of silver on one of the branches caught her eye.

“What was that?” she asked, peering into the darkening shadows.

“Not sure,” Caramon replied and readjusted the weight of his two sons, one in each arm, as best he could. The two were fast asleep, being utterly worn out from a day of laughter and sunshine and splashing their feet in the much too cold lake.

Tika straightened and also readjusted Palin who was swaddled to her chest with a long wrap of fabric. The baby was also fast asleep and sucking on his thumb, an annoying habit his parents were trying to break him of.

“Probably just a squirrel,” Caramon said as he continued up the ramp. “Or a cat,” he added. “The winter was not kind to the strays. I'll put a saucer of milk out again. We can spare it.”

Tika squinted into the darkness one more time but saw nothing. With a hum, she followed Caramon the rest of the way to their house, thoughts of the strange cat she had seen the other night in her head. This wasn't the first time she had thought she had seen a streak of silver disappear if she looked out the window at the right moment or even glance around when at market.

If she didn't know better, she would have thought that perhaps that cat with the weird eyes had been following her. But she knew that Caramon was right, it was more likely that it was one of the tree squirrels disturbed by their passing or one of the many other tree-dwelling creatures that shared their space up in the branches.

Over an hour later, after much complaining and tears from over-exhausted children, the couple had all three boys washed and tucked into their beds. Tika scowled at the pile of dirty clothes she'd have to haul to the Inn with them tomorrow in order to launder them before the stains set in too badly.

Their time in their house was done for a few weeks and now that the weather was so fair, travelers were sure to start arriving and the days they'd be within their home were going to be few until the weather grew colder. Now and through the summer months all hands were needed at the Inn. It kept them busy and Tika hoped the steady routine would keep Caramon occupied and out of his head. Spending time with this family had done him good and Tika promised herself she would take time to treat him to more laughter and memories such as the ones they had shared today.

Today had been a good day and Tika knew that it had eased much of the big man's worries.

Night had fallen by the time they both found themselves in their room. Tika was sitting at the end of the bed, brushing out her hair when Caramon joined her. She looked up as he neared and blushed when he held out a small flower to her. White with a yellow center, the small daisy looked like a toy in his large hand.

“Oh, Caramon!” She smiled and took the flower from him. “Where were you hiding that until now?”

He smiled back and went to wash his face one last time before bed. “The boys helped me smuggle it home. Sturm had it in his shirt. I'm shocked that it isn't squashed flat.”

“Sturm is a gentle boy,” Tika said, wiping her eyes and went to place the flower on the nightstand along with her brush. She sighed when she felt Caramon's arm gently wrap around her in an embrace from behind.

“I love you, Tika Majere,” he whispered into her hair. She smelled of sun and spring all mixed with her usual scent of cloves.

“You forgot Waylan,” she scolded without malice as she turned in his arms.

Caramon chuckled and leaned down to kiss her. “Always my thieving little Waylan,” he murmured against her lips and laughed when she gently nipped his with her teeth.

He still liked to tease her of her youth when she was wild and parent-less. In those days she had survived by thievery until Otik caught her. Instead of turning her over to the authorities, the kind old man and his wife adopted her.

Tika pulled away from their kiss and Caramon took a moment to savor the sight of her. By the light of the candles around the room and the waning light of Lunitari, she was all fire with her already sun-kissed skin and vibrant curls. The round curves of her body against his were awakening many things in the big man and he hoped she'd be as receptive to him as he was to make love to her.

“We still have time for that bath,” he said, pulling her against him but stopped when she winced as her chest crushed against him. “Sorry,” he said with a frown. “They're still tender?”

“It's not your fault.” Tika leaned into him but more gently this time. “That son of yours latches on so hard these days that I'm surprised that I still have nipples left. His new teeth aren't helping matters.”

Caramon ran his hands down her sides and rested them on her hips. After three kids he was used to what having children did to his wife and how her body changed as well as the effects of the different stages on her. Palin still nursed several times a day and the result was Tika suffering from tender and swollen breasts. His wife was well endowed, anyone with eyes saw that. And to Caramon's delight and Tika's utter frustration, her bosom was even larger these days due to continual breastfeeding.

“It's not fair he gets to keep them all to himself,” he complained halfheartedly. Caramon loved his children and was awed by how they grew strong from what his wife could give them from her body. “A bath will help soothe them.” He grinned hopefully.

Tika laughed and put her arms back around his neck. “You and I both had bath enough with the boy's splashing in theirs. Plus I'm tired, it was a long day.”

Caramon let out the breath he was holding. 'Tired' and 'long day' meant 'no' and though he always respected his wife's wishes, he had held onto hope that tonight would be different. Their sexual play had been next to none since Palin had been born.

“I'm tired too,” he agreed then to appease her. “We can just cuddle and talk instead if you want.”

She must have seen the disappointment in his eyes because she pulled him back down for another kiss. Their lips met and Tika swore that no matter how many times she kissed her husband, it always seemed like the first. She bit his lower lip playfully, earning her a deep chuckle.

“Talking is what got us three boys, Caramon Majere,” she said breathily against his mouth.

“Hmm,” he hummed in agreement. “Is it my fault we have such good _conversations_?” he asked, tugging on her nightgown until he found one of the ties holding it closed. Her comment and playful nip had given him hope that maybe she was ready and he pulled on the string, gauging her reaction.

“Sometimes,” she sighed as he undid the ties and the front of her gown came open. “Though you're not good with your words, Caramon Majere, you _are_ quite good with your tongue.”

The big man chuckled as the nightgown fell to the floor and he admired her form drenched in soft light of both moon and candle flame. Six years since they had first become lovers and Caramon was still convinced that he had found the most beautiful woman on Krynn. He had been with many women before Tika, so he considered himself an expert on the matter. Tika was breathtaking and did things to him that no other woman could. Mentally, physically and emotionally, his wife completed him in ways that he had never known in another companion before her. And though she'd argue otherwise, the change to her body as a result of bearing his children only made her more beautiful in Caramon's eyes.

Tika fought the urge to hide herself from her husband's gaze as the chill evening air bit at her exposed skin, making it prickle. Palin was ten months old and still her body hadn't recovered from carrying him. Her stomach had not yet returned to be as flat as before so the skin still sagged. Her hips were noticeably wider as were her thighs and chest. Though her muscles throughout her body were strong, she felt as though it was becoming far too soft and was slower to recover after their third son. The stretchmarks that littered her freckle-covered skin didn't help her self-image.

“You're beautiful,” Caramon whispered as if hearing her thoughts.

“And you're staring!” She smirked up at him. “Well, let's get on with it then,” she teased, her eyes noting his reaction to seeing her fully naked. “I don't think the front of your pants will hold you in much longer if I don't do something about it quick! But remember, Caramon, we have to get up early tomorrow and get to the Inn. So,” she said as she reached out and pulled his shirt over his head, “what do you want to _talk_ about tonight?”

Caramon chuckled and pulled her close and devoured her mouth with his. Cupping her rear in his hand he gently pulled her up against his body before turning them both and lowering her to the bed. He kissed her neck and Tika sighed under his soft, slow touches.

For such a big, strong man, Caramon Majere could be gentle as a lamb.

“You'd better not get me pregnant again, you oaf! I'll never forgive you,” she said and gently cuffed him against his back to silently tell him he was getting too close to the most tender spots on her body.

“Yes you will,” he said against her skin, being careful of her sensitive breasts. “Besides,” his eyes flicked up to hers, “maybe our conversation will lead to a girl this time.”

Caramon watched his wife's eyes soften, the color in them as pure and vibrant and hopeful as any new green bud in spring. He didn't have time to react when she suddenly pulled him against her body, her discomfort completely forgotten, her lips eager and hungry.

Both the wife and mother were suddenly shoved aside as the warrior and thief within Tika emerged to lay claim, conqueror, and once more steal Caramon's heart.

Above the Majere house the moons and stars tiptoed across the sky as if not to disturb the picturesque family within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/23/2020: A bit of a tender chapter this week, I hope you didn't mind the peek into family life between Tika and Caramon. I honestly have always felt robbed of being able to see and understand the two of them together, especially them raising children. This story has given me the opportunity to explore it and I'm diving in head first!  
> I do not have children of my own and I'll confess that my maternal instincts are comparable to a baked potato. But I'm doing my best to research the subject as much as possible to better understand what a woman and her family go through.  
> Tika has become a joy to write and I hope she's shining as strong and bright for you as she is for me. I think she's a wonderful character and I've always been sad that she never got the page time she deserved.  
> I also wanted to take a moment to mention that I've added lots of fanart in Part 1. Many of the chapters in the first half or so now have additional art. So if you haven't seen those, feel free to poke around and take a look. Links to the artists websites are included so go show them love!  
> Thank you all again.  
> Next week we return to Raistlin (for real this time) but I hope these detours that I decided on were appreciated :)


	12. God of Night and Shadows

The thick blanket of fog suddenly parted along the path through the Shoikan Grove. The Dark Tower rose through the mist, its peak soaring high overhead like an ominous claw reaching through the darkness to try and stab futilely at the cold stars above.

Raistlin took one last glance at Yurielle in his arms before continuing towards the Tower. She was asleep, her face still pale, but she looked to at least be resting peacefully; the lines of fear had smoothed, the sweat on her skin had dried.

The archmage shifted her weight in his arms, realizing as he did that he should have had to recast his spell several minutes ago. His gaze darted to the god that was once more ahead of him, silently making his way through the Grove. Raistlin knew then that his magic was being enhanced by the close proximity of his deity.

Raistlin continued on his way behind the avatar of his god. As he did the fog around his ankles continued to shift and swirl as if he were walking through dense grass. The undulating surface shimmered under Nuitari's void light as if tiny glittering droplets of black dew clung to the mist like waving sheets of spidersilk.

“To what do I owe this honor, Great Nightreaver?” Raistlin asked, catching up to the shadow yet staying a few steps behind, as was proper.

Suddenly the god stopped and Raistlin again came face to face with those eyes despite the fact that the being had not turned around.

“ _Flattery will get you nowhere,”_ the god said flatly. _“So save your titles and names or any other meaningless genuflection you may have in mind.”_ Those void eyes swept over Raistlin, then to the sleeping woman in his arms and unexpectedly raised to the cloudy sky. _“We do not have much time,”_ he said. _“My cousins are searching for me.”_

At that moment, a sliver of silver light peeked over the edge of the mountains far across the city.

“They don't know you are here?” Raistlin asked and could sense the other gods of arcane above him in the sky but not the one who inhabited the black moon, for he stood before him.

“ _No, not yet. But they suspected I'd do this... I suppose it's obvious, given what has happened.”_

At that moment, the clouds behind them parted slightly, revealing a tiny section of Lunitari. Her red light edged the clouds that were trying in vain to hide her sight. Nuitari hissed irritably as the light of his cousin's moons washed over him; his voice as low and unnerving as the sound of a thousand angry snakes.

In Raistlin's arms, Yurielle murmured uneasily.

The dark god's focus left the sky where his cousin's gaze searched for him and landed again on the mortal woman who once had worn his color. Nuitari seemed to consider something; those void-dark eyes gleamed for but a moment in the Staff of Magius' light. But instead of voicing his thoughts, his attention returned to Raistlin. _“This Tower was empty for far too long. But it pleases me – nay, all three of us, - that you have finally opened it for others,”_ he said. “ _Continue to do so, for it will be needed in the days to come.”_

Raistlin blinked, not following.

“ _This surprises you?”_ the god asked with a tilt of his head in an unnerving imitation of a mortal gesture.

Raistlin's eyes swept up the length of the Tower before them as he searched for the words to respond with. “I know that, like your cousins, all three of you revere the magic above all else. You do not desire to rise higher than them, for if you did, the balance would be upended,” he said.

Nuitari nodded. _“Very good, and thus is why you are worthy to be Highmage of this Tower, Raistlin Majere. You understand the balance within the magic, for you are one of the few to have ever worn all three colors.”_ The god turned again in that disturbing way where his front was now his back and he was again walking towards the Tower.

“ _I remember clearly the day you wrote upon the lambskin,”_ the gods' quiet yet harsh voice whispered through Raistlin's skull as they continued through the Grove. The trees around them shuddered in reverence to the dark gods' presence. _“You swore yourself to us and to the magic. Know that you have served us well, all three of us, and I hope that you will continue to do so.”_

“I am but your humble instrument,” Raistlin replied, honored that the gods took any such notice of him.

Nuitari glanced back at him, his eyes gleamed. _“Again, flattery and crawling before me will get you nowhere, Raistlin Majere. What I say is true so there is no reason for it to go to your head, mortal,”_ the god said, drawling the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. _“I have no time for such nonsense. I am here for reasons of vast importance and as such, I ask only that you listen, not jabber on.”_

Raistlin inclined his head and waited for the god to continue as they made their way through the Grove. He couldn't suppress the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth – clearly Nuitari was the least social of the three gods and obviously lacked communication skills. It was no wonder he didn't speak to his followers as other wizards reported of their gods.

“ _The weave of arcane magic, that which my cousins and I govern, is already under great strain,”_ Nuitari said as he walked, either unaware or not caring about the conclusion his follower made about him. _“Now, however, I regret to say that our Order has been decimated and it threatens the scale that my cousins and I exist to maintain.”_

Raistlin started, clearly surprised by this. “What do you mean?”

“ _I mean that those that draw upon my light have been vastly reduced,”_ Nuitari said without stopping. _“There are but a fraction now to hold our end of the balance, and this is worrisome...”_

They reached the end of the path. The god looked up at the black tower rising high above. For the first time, Raistlin could see into the beings' hood and he quickly averted his eyes, disturbed and awed by what he saw.

The god before him took the guise of a human male but his face was unlike any mortals. It was too smooth, too white, too cold. Nuitari's eyes were blacker than the darkness around them, ringed with long lashes and dark lines along the pristine skin like veins in marble. Those orbs were great, deep pools of evil, ambition, and trickery and gleamed with the inner glow of void light reminiscent of his moon in high tide. Long, black hair framed the chiseled face that was both youthful and ancient. The hair, like ribbons of raven feathers, fell nearly to the ground.

It was a feature Raistlin was shocked to finally notice, for much of the black around the god consisted of shadows, robes and flowing night-black hair all blending perfectly into one another and endlessly shifting as the god moved like a soft, velvety shadow.

Before them shimmered the barrier that Dalamar and the others had erected to protect the Tower. Nuitari reached a hand out and touched the rippling surface gently. _“A good barrier,”_ he said, his tone appreciative. _“Your pupil is talented in the Art. Very soon he will rival you if he does not already.”_

“Dalamar Nightson is, and has always been, _your_ pupil,” Raistlin said softly, knowing in his heart that this was true. Dalamar had always embraced Nuitari, for he was the only god to have answered the elf's call when he had yearned to learn all those years ago in Silvanesti.

Nuitari nodded. _“Another faithful instrument,”_ he murmured and pressed his palm to the shield. The god turned and held his other hand out to Raistlin. _“Come,”_ he beckoned, _“I will teleport us inside where we may talk comfortably in private.”_ Those eyes shot to his cousins above as if speaking to them and telling them to mind their own affairs.

Raistlin took the final step forward. Lightly, Nuitari touched him on the arm. It was a soft touch, gentle in its caress. However, at the contact, Raistlin gasped, for his whole body was infused with radiating power unlike anything he had felt before.

Or had he...?

Raistlin blinked and realized that he was standing in his bedchambers next to the bed. Nuitari was already moving away, his form appearing to hover like a disembodied specter as he distanced himself from the two mortals. As a result of his presence, a few of the magical orbs around the room began to glow softly, lighting the room but doing nothing to chase away the shadows. Instead, the shadows grew darker, deeper, and seemed to dance in an attempt to gain the gods' notice.

Yurielle murmured in the archmage's arms as he very gently laid her on their bed. He brushed her hair away from her face, the gold of his skin gleamed oddly from the way it reflected the void light emanating off of Nuitari and the orbs that responded to the god's nearness.

“Her fever persists,” Raistlin commented as he pulled her spell component belt off her to make her comfortable. “Will she recover?”

“ _Do I look like a cleric?”_ Nuitari hissed behind him, waiting in the doorway, impatience rolling off him as thickly as the dark shadows of his robes.

“I did not mean to offend with my question,” Raistlin said as he worked, pulling Yurielle's cloak off before going to undo her boots. “I am unfamiliar with her ailment if it is indeed brought on by her magic, for it is unlike any that I myself have suffered.”

“ _Her fever will pass,”_ the god said after a moment's silence. _“Eventually, though you are correct, it is not the usual kind that a mage suffers from because of their magic.”_

Raistlin tore his eyes off his beloved and looked at his god, for a moment forgetting the others' divinity and spoke his mind as if conversing with an old acquaintance. “But it _is_ a result of her magic... Then, because of its strangeness, is it the wild magic that is doing this to her?”

“ _Every mortal gives something of themselves for the magic,”_ Nuitari replied evenly, his voice harsh and echoing. _“_ **Any** _magic. It matters not its form and she is no exception to this rule. In exchange for our intervention to save your life,”_ he explained, _“we have taken our blessings from her. Her body is going through withdrawals - for lack of a better explanation.”_

Raistlin stared at her sleeping face for many moments before the words sank in and he understood what it was that Nuitari was saying.

“She no longer has the arcane magic?” he asked, stunned to his core.

“ _No,”_ Nuitari replied, his voice echoed in the room for many seconds. _“Though she retains her knowledge of what she has learned through her years, she can no longer cast a spell using arcane means. She is now fully at the mercy of the wild magic and will need her knowledge to find a way to master this volatile power - same as all those that will be discovered in the future to come...”_

Irrationally, Raistlin grew angry. He whirled on the figure standing in the doorway, emotion etched on his golden features. “How could you do this? How could you all agree to make her suffer so?”

“ _She asked it of us,”_ the god replied matter-of-factly with a flick of his hand. _“It was this or both of you perish. She gave it up for_ **you** _, Raistlin Majere.”_ The god's eyes held the archmage in their eternal depths as he spoke. _“And I dare say that before we reach the end of the path before us, she will give up far, far more for your shared cause._

“ _Besides,”_ the god added in his hissing, low voice, “ _she does not need it. Not anymore. Not on this path that now lays before you...”_

At this, Raistlin's anger cooled and he fell silent. A lump filled his throat as his eyes again drifted to Yurielle. Silently, he brushed that always stubborn strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear to secure it knowing, even as he did, that it would fall loose again just to toy with him.

The woman shifted slightly at his touch and murmured something quietly but remained deep under the gods' spell.

“ _Come,”_ Nuitari commanded again. _“She will sleep for some time and my own time here is limited. We have much to discuss, Archmagus Raistlin Majere.”_ With that, the god turned and entered the study, hovering like a dark wraith, leaving Raistlin alone with Yurielle.

Quietly and carefully Raistlin finished removing the remaining magical items and pouches off of her body. Freed of everything but her clothes and robe he then pulled a blanket off the end of the bed and draped it over her, tucking it close. He took his time, not to be disrespectful to his god waiting in the study, but more so because he felt like he needed to do _something_ , for she had sacrificed part of herself to keep him alive. Not just any part of herself, a part that made her different and unique, a part that made her Yurielle.

Making sure she was comfortable was the smallest thing the Raistlin could do and his god could wait an eternity if he didn't like it!

As Raistlin finished his task he thought to himself, could he have done the same as Yurielle? Would he have really given up his arcane skills to save her?

He had told Antimodes that he would but... now faced with the reality of it, with his own god standing in the very next room, Raistlin had to ask himself if he could give up this power, this energy, for anything or anyone...

Without his magic, who would Raistlin Majere be?

A worthless nobody, a normal human and a sickly one at that. His brother would have more worth than he without his magic.

In that moment, Raistlin Majere shuddered at the thought. He wanted to think he could give up magic to save Yurielle if need be but Raistlin knew that in doing so he would lose himself.

And right now, with the absence of Fistandantilus' power and knowledge within him, Raistlin was already questioning his worth...

Kissing Yurielle on the forehead, he gave her skin one last caress, frowning at how warm she still felt before turning and exiting the room.

Nuitari stood next to one of the windows beside the fireplace, his eternal gaze on the sky above.

“Do they know you are here now?” Raistlin dared asked.

The god nodded.

“They should join us,” the archmage said wryly. “I've never been host to such divine guests. My Tower is humble but its halls are welcoming to all three aspects of the Art. I'm even willing to open my best wine for you.”

“ _Hold your scathing tongue, mortal,”_ the god rumbled. _“Dare not forget who stands before you!”_

Raistlin, feeling petulant, ignored his god's ire and went to his desk, setting the Staff of Magius against the bookshelf behind it. “I mean no offense. I _would_ offer you a refreshment,” he said, “though I doubt I'd have anything you'd find enjoyable or want.”

Even though the god didn't move, Raistlin still felt those eyes heavily on him. _“I happen to be a fan of Silvenesti wine. The darker, the better,”_ Nuitari hissed inside Raistlin's head.

Raistlin allowed himself a contrite smile and bowed. Soon he had filled two wine glasses with the richest vintage he had within the room and brought them over. The god of black magic took one with a disturbingly white, corpse-like hand. He didn't drink from it, but the liquid within slowly lowered.

“ _A fine year,”_ Nuitari commented idly. _“Bitter and tainted with the first seeds of fear, just before Lorac's Nightmare took root...”_

Taking a respectful step away Raistlin also sipped his wine. Now that Nuitari pointed it out, it did taste of fear. He set the glass down on the edge of the mantel over the fireplace, his own eyes compelled to gaze upon the two other moons that were now clear in the sky outside.

“ _She sends her greetings,”_ Nuitari said suddenly.

Raistlin looked at his god and finally considered the fact that his deity was even allowing this interaction to take place. Never, not once in all the years he had been in his service, had Nuitari spared but a moment to interact with the archmage. He figured that out of the three, Nuitari was the more independent and least likely to interact with anyone, his followers included. The fact he was here now was no small thing.

“Who?”

“ _Lunitari,”_ the dark god clarified. _“She refuses to shut up until I send her greetings,_ ” he said in obvious irritation. After a moment his gaze left the sky and rested back on Raistlin. _“You have always been her favorite...”_

“Always?” the word slipped from Raistlin's mouth without him thinking.

“ _Always.”_

Raistlin swallowed, for he suddenly felt as though the god did not mean this life only. Something stirred within him then; something vague and faint like wisps of a long-ago dream... Unconsciously Raistlin held his breath, his brow furrowed in confusion as the feeling passed and he questioned that he had even experienced it.

Seeing this Nuitari said, _“The memories will come with patience, archmage, as they do for all crystallized souls if they take the time to recall them. But your awakening is not why I am here.”_

Raistlin shoved all questions about himself or of Yurielle from his mind. Though he had many, there were greater matters to discuss right now.

“Fistandantilus,” he said, “and those following him...”

“ _They are a grave threat to Krynn,”_ Nuitari affirmed. _“Their magic will continue to distort the already strained weave of arcane.”_

“Can you simply not give them power?” Raistlin asked. “Cut off their magic?”

“ _Would that we could,”_ the black god hissed. _“But we are forbidden to outright interfere with the affairs of mortals. Thus was the sacrifice_ **we** _made in order to maintain the balance of this universe. If we do intervene with you, it comes with a heavy price. Something is given in return...”_ He nodded to the bedroom where Yurielle slept to prove his point.

The god was silent a moment, the wine lowered even more in his glass but his gaze did not leave Raistlin as he considered something. _“I do not share this information with you lightly,”_ he finally said, his voice like the velvet scales of a thousand snakes. _“It may bring repercussions against myself and my cousins - nay, to all the Highgod's children... but it must be so. You must understand what is happening in the realms above and around you._

“ _We have all seen that other timeline,”_ Nuitari continued. _“We've seen you kill each and every one of us and I daresay we are not only angered that this happened, but also the very knowledge that a mortal could indeed rise to divinity in the way you managed in that reality has many of my brethren in turmoil.”_

“Is this not the natural order of the universe?” Raistlin asked. “Are you not a soul ancient beyond counting; given divinity yourself by the Highgod?”

Nuitari hissed, the light in the room darkened under his ire as if it were being sucked into the depths of his black robes.

Raistlin stared back into those dark eyes that were his moon. They gleamed with the void light he drew his magic from.

And he was not afraid.

The god blinked, the light in the room returned to normal. _“It is in_ **this** _universe,”_ he said quietly. _“But that is neither here nor there, for your mortal mind cannot begin to grasp the weave of existence and how vast the multiverse is.”_

“Now you're just gloating,” Raistlin said, feeling cocky and emboldened by the knowledge that somehow the divine being in front of him respected him.

Him, a mortal, held the respect of a god!

“Get on with why you are here!” Raistlin snapped in equal irritation. “Don't dangle secrets of existence if they are not relevant to your point. I don't have time to ponder all other possibilities, for, like you, I have other things I'd like to return to!”

Those void eyes flashed and for the first time, Raistlin felt the wrath of his god. His chest tightened, his throat closed, and he fell to his knees, coughing violently.

“ _Though you are powerful,”_ Nuitari whispered into Raistlin's mind, the sensation was like knives cutting through his skull, _“and your soul unlike any other upon Krynn, you are still bound to this weak form! You are still a_ **mortal** _and I will remind you of who you stand before, Raistlin Majere. Right now, on this timeline, in this_ _reality, I am your_ **GOD** _and you will speak to me as such!”_

Raistlin gasped in agony and bowed before the eternal being. He managed a pathetic nod as his lungs raged within him. Black spots swam before his sight, he was about to lose consciousness.

Apparently satisfied that he had suffered enough, Nuitari released his hold on Raistlin at the last possible second. _“Get up,”_ he growled, _“and let us talk civilly. Your snide attitude is boorish.”_

Oxygen rushed back into his lungs and Raistlin was forced to take several shaky breaths before he could even make the attempt to stand again.

“ _I expect better of you,”_ Nuitari's judgmental gaze fell heavily on the archmage as he rose to his feet, _“for you are far smarter than this, Raistlin Majere. If you are to defeat the other half of you, then you must become better - both as a man as well as in your magic - than what you have been in the past._ **Never** _forget this!”_

Again Raistlin bowed but in humility this time, for the god's words struck something deep inside of him, resonating in his soul. Unconsciously his eyes darted to his bedroom door.

“ _Your bitterness and resentment are but two of the qualities that put you on your life's path in the first place,”_ Nuitari lectured and though his eyes didn't move, Raistlin sensed the gods gaze also turned to where Yurielle slept. _“Your female has become your light. Now, follow her! She has shown you that you are human. Now that you are detached from the lich and again your own being, you must relearn what that means.”_

“Yurielle,” Raistlin dared to be defiant one last time in the face of his god. “She is Yurielle!”

Nuitari held the mortal's gaze for many long heartbeats and Raistlin felt as though his mind were being shifted through. His whole being was bare before the dark god of magic and Raistlin was powerless as Nuitari stripped him down and examined him to his very soul.

Finally, the god blinked, releasing his hold. He nodded in satisfaction. _“Yes,”_ he finally said. _“She_ **is** _Yurielle. And you know now, or at least, are beginning to understand who and what she is?”_

Raistlin nodded.

“ _She is not of this timeline,”_ Nuitari said softly, _“nor, if you think about it, even of this reality. Truly, she should not exist. Not here, not anywhere and because of this, not even the Great Chronicler Astinus can see her as he views events here in this reality while time passes. She is an enigma to us all... unique in all existence.”_

The thought of what his god was saying left a cold knot in Raistlin's stomach but he _was_ beginning to understand. He recalled Astinus telling them that he could only see how Yurielle shaped those around her, not events that involved her. Most magic-users were wary of her, sensed her strangeness, her 'otherness'. But not Raistlin. He had loved her from the moment he first saw her in that haunted crypt and it _terrified_ him.

If he was honest with himself, it still terrified him.

Even so, Raistlin recalled Astinus' words to Yurielle when she had asked the Chronicler while they sat before him what it was she was supposed to do. The Ancient One had told her that all she had to do was just BE. Her existence was enough.

Raistlin fully agreed with Astinus.

“So... she wasn't there for... for me on that other timeline, was she?” Raistlin asked even though he knew the answer. The very thought of no Yurielle was worse than the thought of his empty god-self.

Nuitari shook his head. _“No. The being known as Yurielle only exists here, because_ **you** _put her here.”_

“You mean Raistlindantilus,” Raistlin stated.

Nuitari nodded.

“That is why she saw **HIM** during her Test?”

“ _Yes.”_

“And that god is still alive somewhere?”

If it were possible, the god's eyes grew even darker. _“Yes. And finally, we circle back round to why I am here.”_

Raistlin bowed again. “Yes,” he said, his voice still raspy from his coughing fit. He reached for his wine and took a small sip.

“ _Listen carefully,”_ Nuitari ordered, taking a step closer to the archmage. _“As I said, for me to interfere in this way is unheard of in all of Krynn's history. My cousins and I have no clerics and as such, I must bend the rules in order to speak to you directly and frankly. Fistandantilus is now whole once more. His part of soul is once again housed within a powerful physical body; one that, make no mistake, is now completely his. Even now, he is reforming it to suit his needs.”_

“Par-Salian?”

Nuitari shook his head. _“His fall has been most distressing for my cousin to witness,”_ he confessed. _“When we foresaw the shaping of this timeline after Yurielle's Test, we had hoped that having her with you would be enough for you to find a way to destroy Fistandantilus, thus ending the threat of your combined ascension.”_

“But it didn't happen that way...” Raistlin said.

“ _No,”_ the god agreed. _“Fistandantilus' web is massive and it spans across Ages upon this world. I have always been proud of him for his tenacity and cleverness, for he has been one of the greatest of my Order by far - even though, in the end, he sided with my mother.”_ The god scowled then shrugged. _“Despite this, I cannot help but admire his ambition and the long game he has played through the eons. However, it is his continued existence that threatens the balance as you are well aware. Now more than ever.”_

“You said that our Order has been decimated,” Raistlin said. “Fistandantilus has done this?”

“ _In a way, yes,”_ Nuitari replied, the wine in his glass was nearly gone now and Raistlin went to refill it. _“Raistlindantilus,”_ the god scoffed the name mockingly. _“An effective label, I suppose. Yurielle dubbed_ **HIM** _thus?”_

Raistlin nodded.

“ _A clever mind if nothing else she has!”_ The god chuckled darkly before continuing, the sound was eerie and hung in the room. _“Fistandantilus, along with your combined god-self on another timeline, are equally responsible for so many leaving the ranks of black robes.”_

“Leaving?” Raistlin asked, surprised. “Forgive me; I had assumed by 'decimated' you had meant they have all been killed.”

“ _Perhaps there is no difference,”_ Nuitari said cryptically and returned to his wine, this time sipping it as a mortal does.

Raistlin watched, captivated, as the dark red liquid passed the ebony lips. It was like watching a snake feast; both fascinating and unnerving.

“ _Those that follow the black moon are not the only ones to have fallen with Par-Salian,”_ Nuitari said. _“There are members of all three Orders within his ranks now, much to my cousin's distress. But, far too many of my own flock have turned and this I cannot abide by, for without them, the balance shifts ever closer to chaos._

“ _I am not like my mother,”_ he declared suddenly. _“I care not for wanton destruction and suffering. There is an order to our world, to this reality, and to this timeline that must always be upheld lest it_ **all** _unravel. I left the plane of the gods to dwell here above the material one to watch over Krynn because, like my cousins, I do actually care what you silly mortals go on about in your daily lives.”_

“How kind of you,” Raistlin said dryly, knowing that his gods' edicts were far from the gentle and caring ones of other gods.

“ _It_ _is kind of me,”_ Nuitari nodded, apparently not above a bit of flattery. _“However,”_ he sighed, _“when it is my flock that begins to upset the balance then it is up to me to intervene.”_

“But things are not so simple?”

“ _No, they are not. For, as my cousins have pointed out to me: If those who were once of my Order are no longer drawing upon my power, then how can I possibly restore the balance but by warning those disciples that I have left.”_

Raistlin blinked incredulously, clearly not following. “They don't draw on the black moon?” he asked, skeptical that his god was jesting.

“ _No... They no longer draw upon my moon,”_ Nuitari said. _“Nor do they draw upon those of my brethren.”_

“If not you or the other gods, then who? Or what?” Raistlin started, his eyes widened. “Surely not the wild magic?”

“ _No.”_ Nuitari shook his head slowly, his eyes intense. _“Can you not guess?”_

“Fistandantilus?”

Nuitari made a displeased noise. _“He is mortal still, yet he already thinks himself a god,”_ he said. _“But, you are correct, in a sense. However, no, his followers do not draw upon Fistandantilus himself, but rather, that one whom you are also a part of. This_ **Raistlindantilus** _is the source of their magic.”_

Raistlin froze, stunned.

“ _Thus you fully understand why the magic here in this reality has been off and why we needed the wild magic to finally blossom,”_ Nuitari admitted. _“Long have we felt the ever-growing intrusion of this god's presence in this reality but at first we had no way to understand it until Yurielle appeared and her Test was given - her choice made.”_

“But... Yurielle has been alive for what, nearly three decades?” Raistlin stated more than asked. “How did you already know of that other timeline so long ago? Could you not have changed things before she got to her Test? Even before my own? You could have done something to prevent Fistandantilus from taking hold of me! You could have prevented Par-Salian from hunting wild magic-users!”

“ _Time does not work that way,”_ Nuitari said. _“For us, it is not a linear thing, like for you mortals. It is an ocean, always in motion, and every decision creates a new flow out from it, new ripples in every wave. Yurielle lives in but one flow because it was here that the wild-magic was strongest on this version of Krynn. Perhaps our suppressing the wild-magic in other realities was what ultimately led to Fistandantilus taking root.”_ Nuitari shrugged.

“ _The flow of time is vast and is not of my domain,”_ his dark fathomless eyes encompassed Raistlin, _“it is yours, Master of Past and Present. Thus why all of this is even possible in the first place!”_

Raistlin stared at his god like a child unable to grasp the concept that the world was round.

“ _Few of us are there that fully understand the flow of Time,”_ Nuitari explained. _“Even among the gods. Oh, there is wise, enlightened Zivilyn who gazes at the flow and is the best among us to guess at where the water will go or how deep the waves will be,”_ the god shook his head slightly, _“but only you, in the vast knowledge your soul has acquired, ever came close to understanding it; to shaping it._

“ _This is why you as a god were both destruction and time. Thus why Raistlindantilus has been able to reach into this timeline, before_ **your** _fall, to alter the course. Thus how he brought a spark over from his reality - in the form of a woman - to guide you so that it does not happen again.”_

“Then how is it that Fistandantilus is able to harness that god's power?” Raistlin asked, taking another sip of wine and finally finding his voice. “If Raistlindantilus does not want that outcome to happen here, then why lend his power at all?”

Nuitari shrugged again, it was odd to see him do such a mortal habit. _“This we do not know...”_ he admitted. _“We are, and always have been, blind to that other timeline and all things happening there. But one thing is for certain: the draw of magic from another reality is warping this one. And, rest assured, Raistlin Majere, now that Fistandantilus has begun to gather so many followers to him, things will only get worse.”_

Raistlin stood there before his god as silence descended heavily in the room around them, his own wine glass full and forgotten in his hand. Finally, he asked the question he dreaded most, the one he feared the answer to more than he feared anything else: “If Yurielle does not belong here...” he had to force the words out through a tight throat, “if she should not exist...”

He took a sip of wine again and cleared his throat in an attempt to calm his voice. “Is she also upsetting the magic here?” His cursed eyes flicked to his god and for the first time in Raistlin's life, they had the look that one has when imploring divine guidance or blessing. “What is her fate to be if she is not part of this reality?”

Nuitari stared back at the mortal before him, his void eyes, (if it were possible for him to have the emotion), seemed almost compassionate. _“That, Raistlin Majere,”_ he said finally after many long moments, moments which seemed an eternity to the archmage, _“is entirely up to you.”_

“Me?”

“ _She exists here for you, does she not?”_

Raistlin nodded. He understood this fully now, for only a force such as her could have steered him from the path he was on prior to their meeting. Only Yurielle could have awoken his heart and only she could have given him back his humanity. Without her, he had been doomed to remain lost in darkness, to fall victim to that darker half of his soul.

Now that she was here, he remained in darkness but her light guided him towards his true destiny - like a lighthouse keeping him from ruin.

“ _I will admit,”_ Nuitari confessed softly, _“that I do not know what affects her presence will continue to have on the weave of magic here. Indeed, Fistandantilus and his taint upon the weave and his drawing upon his god-self is the greater danger.”_

Raistlin's eyes left his god and unconsciously looked beyond the room to where Yurielle slept, wishing he could peer into the future and have the answers.

The archmage shuddered involuntarily when the god placed a pale hand on his shoulder, the ebony nails tightened against the fabric for a moment as if he were an old comrade offering comfort, awkward though it may be. Just as quickly as it happened, the hand disappeared.

“ _I do not envy you the worry these questions have on your soul, Raistlin Majere,”_ the god's voice hissed next to him. _“But, if it would ease your mind then take heart in the fact that Krynn accepts her and allows her to focus the ambient weave. Because of her presence, the wild-magic has a balance point to begin to grow stronger in mortals on this timeline and in this reality. At least for now, her spark of wild-magic is needed.”_

“For now...” Raistlin murmured to himself, that cold knot in his stomach twisting.

“ _By the end of this,”_ Nuitari said, _“we will all have choices to make. Some will not be easy.”_

Raistlin thought of the god's earlier words and he feared the decision regarding Yurielle's fate would not be his to make, but hers.

“What am I to do?” Raistlin finally asked, baffled.

“ _Live,”_ Nuitari said. _“Do not fear what may come to pass once Fistandantilus is destroyed and the link to that other reality severed. Instead, learn and awaken and become stronger. Fistandantilus wants something within you still – the knowledge he lost from his past lives. That is what you hold. Or, at least, is part of it.”_

“Yurielle said there is something inside of her that Fistandantilus is also after.”

Nuitari nodded.

“What is it? How can I protect her from Fistandantilus?” Raistlin asked, demanding and hoping that this would be the key to find his answers.

“ _You_ **cannot** _protect her,”_ Nuitari replied. “ _For she does not need - or want - it. Instead, help her,”_ he continued before Raistlin could argue. _“She will be just as lost as you are now that she only has the wild magic. Her grasp of it is strong, but she is untested. Unlike you, she has not been tempered. Her body, mind and soul, must pass through fire to become the weapon we need, or this timeline is doomed as well.”_

“Are we in danger here?” Raistlin asked. “In this Tower? These other mages attacked both here and Wayreth. Do we need to fortify the Towers as we find these wild magic-users?”

Nuitari's gaze returned to the window. He was silent many long moments while his cousins hovered high in the sky as if listening to him. Finally, the dark god turned back. _“We believe that, for now at least, your followers here as well as the mages at Wayreth are safe.”_

“You are sure?”

The god shrugged. _“Who is ever safe, especially you squishy mortals?”_

Raistlin had nothing to say to this.

“ _We believe Fistandantilus' new followers merely wanted to confuse the magehood while you were still in turmoil,”_ Nuitari said. _“They themselves are still weak, but they grow in strength as Fistandantilus' power grows. Their magic comes from your combined god-self, but their hold on it and understanding of it is very infantile yet. Despite this, I would caution you to be wary. We do not feel as if there will be another attack on the Towers. At least, not for some time... but it does not mean that they are idle. So you should not be.”_

“Fistandantilus has other plans,” Raistlin stated and the god nodded. There was no need to discuss what the lich's ultimate goal was.

Fistandantilus still wanted godhood; there was no other thing in existence for a being such as him to strive for.

“ _You are merely obstacles along his path,”_ Nuitari said after another lengthy pause. _“If he sees fit to deal with you, he will. Though, do not put it beneath him to be a constant thorn in your side.”_

“Where has he gone?” Raistlin asked then. “Yurielle said that Skullcap imploded.”

“ _Such destruction killed him once,”_ Nuitari said. _“It will not do so again. Nevertheless, Fistandantilus is not at Skullcap. Instead, he has fled to a hidden location. Even his followers seem unsure as to where at the moment.”_

“You do not know either?”

Nuitari shook his head slightly. _“Something, it seems, is hiding the Archlich from us. On the other hand, we are hoping to be able to follow Fistandantilus' minions and track their movements. Right now they are congregating at what remains of Skullcap. But we feel that they will not stay there long.”_

“How many?”

“ _Many,”_ the god replied darkly. _“The exact number is hard to guess so soon. Not only does he have the majority of the Black Robes in his command, say nothing of the several dozen red and white, but he is also finding renegades and those that have been cast out.”_

Raistlin hissed angrily. After a few moments, he said, “We should not stand idly by then. We should move now before his minions have joined him or before Fistandantilus has regained all of his strength!”

“ _He has followers, yes, but not as many as Wayreth and Palanthas combined,”_ Nuitari pointed out. _“And it is true that Fistandantilus is also vulnerable right now. But so too are you, Raistlin Majere. You cannot hope to stand against him, not now. Not without finding yourself and not without Yurielle mastering her Art. And, it galls me to say it, you must also find, and train more wild magic-users. If you can.”_

“How is it that now, ages later after you structured the ways of High Sorcery, that you allow the wild-magic again?”

The god regarded Raistlin over the rim of his wine glass. His gaze then drifted back out the window. Finally, he nodded as if listening to his cousins and agreeing with what they had to say.

“ _Back then, Krynn was young,”_ Nuitari began, _“and the magic was_ **very** _different. Krynn was but an infant, as were all the races and the ambient weave around the world was stronger and much easier for mortals to access. But these young races knew not their own limits. Far too many could not control the power they were using. Many died in those days because they were weak or selfish._

Nuitari turned back to the window. _“We, my cousins and I, brought order to the Chaos. You can think of it as creating a new layer to the magic for mortals to use and because of this, the level of ambient magic in the world has become more stable over the eons. Not only that, but the races of this world have grown as well. Though young, you are no longer the naive people you once were. You've grown collectively as mortals, believe it or not.”_

Raistlin absorbed this. “We're finally worthy? Is that what you are saying?”

Those void eyes flashed when the god's eyes flicked back to him.

“ _That is still hotly debated among the pantheon,”_ he said. _“But... it seems we have no choice if we wish to avoid the fate shared with us. The wild-magic is needed to balance the magic from that other timeline... But do not mistake me, Archmagus, if the wild-magic sorcerers are weak themselves then they will be destroyed by the power they wield. It is the price_ **they** _will pay for failure. Discipline is needed now more than ever, but mortals are more ready now than they ever have been to take on this task. So is Krynn.”_

“You speak like Krynn is a being itself?”

Nuitari nodded. _“All things are alive, even this world and she is more conscious now as a cosmic entity than after we gods created her. Krynn wishes it, for it is from her bosom that the power radiates from. It is her choice, under our guidance, that she is allowing her power to flow into the blood of mortals now. The time is ripe here on this timeline and if we do not allow the wild-magic back, then we are all lost.”_

“Lost?” Raistlin said quietly to himself then blinked and remembered Nuitari saying something else previously. “You said that Yurielle will be lost now without her arcane magic but... how am I just as lost as her?”

The god tilted his head to the side again, a cascade of black hair rippled along the surface of his dark robe. _“You yourself have questioned multiple times who you truly are and yet you ask me how you are lost?”_

Raistlin finally averted his eyes, unable to look at his god anymore. Nuitari was right, he knew his soul, for the archmage often was not sure who he even was without Fistandantilus. Who he had been before his Test seemed like a shadow to him now. He could barely remember the man he had once been.

What he did recall, were snippets of anger and resentment. People pitied him and he had zero tolerance for them. There were a few times when small bits of understanding and kindness to others came out of that young man. He always, even to this day, would help those who could not help themselves.

Yet... Raistlin recalled also how lonely that young man had been.

How many nights had he stayed awake, aching to just be understood? How many times had he been jealous of his twin and the entourage of friends the simpleton has amassed around them?

None of Raistlin's childhood 'friends' were his.

They were Caramon's.

Always Caramon's.

“ _What did you give, Raistlin Majere, for_ **your** _magic?”_ Nuitari asked suddenly. _“What price did you pay?”_

Raistlin blinked. He was about to reply 'My health' but, his hand going to his chest, he realized that no longer was the case. With Yurielle's help and with the fact that the Archlich was no longer draining him, Raistlin knew that his body was as it once had been. Perhaps better.

What had he given up?

The archmage looked up to find that the visage of his god had begun to fade away.

“ _Now you see, Raistlin Majere,”_ Nuitari whispered into his mind. _“You have much work to do; both outward and inward. In order to be our instrument, you must face your hardest Test yet.”_

Raistlin took a step forward as if he would stop Nuitari from leaving. “My hardest Test?” he asked. “And what would that be?”

“ _Knowing yourself.”_ And with that, the god vanished.

Raistlin looked out the window to find the black moon hanging high within the sky - a full disc of dark, shimmering light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/30/20: Hopefully it was an interesting chapter. It wasn't easy to make the decision to take Yurielle's arcane half of her magic away, but it felt right and will only add to the journey ahead of them.  
> Thanks again for reading :)  
> Collage created with photos found on pinterest.  
> P.S. I'm going to be adding the post dates to the notes of every chapter. More for my own personal knowing than anything else.


	13. Questions and Struggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an introspective chapter with Raistlin this week so bear with me. There's also a POV switch at the end :)

Raistlin slowly made his way back to his bed chambers and felt as though both his body and mind were equally numb with shock over what his god had shared with him. Nuitari was known for subtlety and trickery but Raistlin had no reason to doubt his patrons' words.

If his god was indeed correct then the situation they faced regarding Fistandantilus and those that went to his side was graver than any of them had first realized.

Yes, Raistlin thought to himself, this was far, far worse than they could have ever dreamed. His eyes darkened as he crossed the threshold; the followers of Fistandantilus were drawing upon no god of magic for their abilities.

“Nuitari's tit...” he swore quietly to himself, not realizing he used one of Yurielle's favorite curses as his mind was occupied with magic-users whose power came from a god in a different reality! These renegade wizards were getting their magic from a being of destruction and time and Raistlin had to keep himself from pondering what kind of magic this source would bring to Krynn. The influence of this being was already warping the magic of this weave to the point where the wild-magic had to be allowed once more as balance.

What sort of twisted darkness would be unleashed through minds tainted by Fistandantilus? For the Archlich himself seemed to be the focal point from where all troubles with the magic led back to, especially now that Raistlin knew he drew upon their alter god-self.

Raistlin Majere dreaded these thoughts. But, as he made his way towards his bed, he supposed he'd find out the answers soon enough.

At least it finally confirmed both his and Dalamar's suspicions: The magic Fistandantilus wielded was indeed different than what they knew. But it didn't mean that Raistlin was comforted by this confirmation. The exact opposite in fact, for the threat of unknown magic was something that unnerved him greatly.

A master of the Art himself, he knew that anything outside his knowledge was something to be wary of. This included Yurielle's wild-magic, but Raistlin had accepted hers more willingly as divine allowance. This new magic was completely unknown, even to the gods themselves, and the not knowing only heightened the Archmage's anxiety.

If Fistandantilus was drawing on their god-self that existed elsewhere, then the thought occurred to Raistlin... could he as well? In theory, their souls combined as one _were_ that being so it was plausible that Raistlin would also be able to connect to this god.

But how?

And, more importantly, would he even _want_ to?

The Archmage knew that he did not want to walk the path to become a god. He had found his humanity, had found his dormant heart. His Star had shown him love and even though her light revealed so many cracks and flaws in him, Raistlin was firm in his belief that he would take a different path now that he was free from the Archlich's presence.

But oh... to have access to so much power!

Raistlin shook his head to banish the desires.

Nuitari told him to be better, told him that he had to find a way to be their instrument and the Archmage knew that to give in to those desires was the easy way out of finding himself. He also knew that if he allowed his thoughts to go down that path, he would never sleep again.

And right now he was tired. So very, very tired.

It was a weariness not only of the body and mind but also of the heart and soul.

Coming to the bedside he watched his beloved while she slept. Yurielle's lips were slightly parted as she breathed, that stubborn lock of hair stuck to part of her mouth, moving slowly with each breath. Her cheeks were slightly flushed; the rest of her face was pale, the skin under her eyes dark with fatigue and bad dreams.

Never had Raistlin wanted this, for her to lose her arcane connection to the gods, for her to witness such horrors as Fistandantilus be reborn in her old mentor... The last thing he ever could have wanted was for Yurielle to see her sister brought back and for her to make such a horrible, gut-wrenching decision.

Her twin or the man she loved?

Yurielle had chosen the latter but Raistlin saw the pain in her eyes and the wound inside her that her choice had inflicted. It would be slow to heal and then would scar.

Would she come to regret her decision?

Raistlin's heart dropped. He feared what Yurielle would do or say once she found out about not only her magic being altered but also her inevitable discovery of what she was and why she was here.

If only he could have spared her from this...

The Archmage sighed and ran his hand through his hair as he stood over her, watching Yurielle slumber and dream her dreams. He never grew tired of doing this, just observing her – this perfect woman that defied explanation.

This woman who, for lack of a better term, seemed an angel here to save his soul. One created by a terrifying god that had collapsed a whole timeline and reality; a god who devoured all existence as well as himself to be left writhing in endless agony inside the void born from having no heart.

It was a being Raistlin had the capacity to become if not for this woman and thus why he would bleed himself dry in the attempt to make it up to her. Raistlin was powerful, ambitious, but he had no wish to rule over a dead existence, he did not wish to lose his soul.

And he did not want to be where there was no Yurielle.

As he gazed at her treasured face, Raistlin's mind whirled through the words exchanged with his god and the confirmation of what he suspected. Raistlin had always thought her words were ones she used to make sense of her life, that it was a way to justify her strange magic. But she had been right all along.

Yurielle, truly, was not supposed to exist...

Raistlin however, refused to accept this, for she _did_ exist and that was enough for him!

Even though it was enough he had to wonder, how had **HE** done it?

How had Raistlindantilus used the wild spark of magic to enter this reality, hook to this timeline before this version of Raistlin had fallen? How did he bring forth this woman in an attempt to change the outcome? How could an empty god of nothing create a creature such as her?

There had to be connections, explanations, for how this was possible.

Or had everything simply been the result of the magic? Wild magic was unpredictable, dangerous, _powerful_.

Nuitari said that Yurielle was here because of Raistlindantilus. That she existed because of his actions, but Raistlin Majere felt as though there was a giant piece he was not seeing. Something vital that would play an even bigger role in the days, weeks, and months to come as they grew to understand what was going on.

He thought then of his and Yurielle's conversation, one that hadn't been that long ago yet seemed like lifetimes since it had taken place. Yurielle had shared with Raistlin that during her Test she had seen a golden spark that had entered her heart. Likewise, he could recall seeing through those divine eyes of Raistlindantilus, the indigo spark holding within it a golden core.

Perhaps that was the key? Perhaps that was the bridge that connected everything...

But how or why or what it meant, Raistlin still had no idea.

Exhausted by this mental struggle, the Archmage slowly undressed then climbed beneath the covers to join Yurielle. She mumbled something unintelligible and rolled his direction as she normally did in response to him moving in bed beside her. Raistlin smiled as she unconsciously nuzzled into him, the heat from her fever quickly stealing away any chill he may have felt.

Yes, this was his path now.

They'd find their answers together so there was no point in agonizing over the questions. Now was time to rest and be thankful that they were still alive.

“Is he gone?” her sleepy voice asked.

“Yes,” Raistlin whispered back.

“What did he say?”

“It does not matter right now,” he replied softly, tucking her head under his chin and gently running his hand along her still-clothed spine. “Sleep, Yurielle.”

“Okay...” she mumbled and was silent again.

Within a few minutes her breathing evened out and Raistlin knew that sleep had pulled her back under. He kissed her warm forehead, thinking again how she had sacrificed her link to the arcane gods in order to save the two of them - to save _him_. The thought unwittingly brought to mind the dream that had plagued him since the first days he had met Yurielle and the words of Nuitari replayed in his mind: _“...before we reach the end of the path before us, she will give up far, far more for you...”_

At this, his human heart twisted painfully.

Why did those words make his very soul feel cold and empty?

Why did a dream from months ago still haunt him?

What was to become of Yurielle here on this timeline once Fistandantilus was removed and the link to that other one severed?

Raistlin forced the memory and the dream from his mind, forced away the questions of fate and how that alternate timeline affected this one. And above all, he forced away the feeling as though he already knew these answers.

He refused to think about this right now and of what everything could possibly mean. There were far too many other thoughts and uncertainties swirling in his mind.

Fistandantilus no longer drew on the arcane weave, at least, not in the way that was understood. Yurielle no longer touched the arcane weave either, but her separation was a sacrifice she willingly gave.

Raistlin tried to still his mind, tried to stay in the here and now, for while Yurielle slept in his embrace, he refused to succumb to these dark thoughts. She was his Star, his light, his anchor; and she held within her - either physically or metaphorically - a golden light that may be what Fistandantilus was after. But if this light was connected to Raistlin or his alter god-self, he had no way of knowing.

Nor did he _want_ to know.

What was Yurielle? Raistlin had to question. He squeezed her gently in his arms to assure himself that he had not dreamed her up, to convince himself that all of this was real and not some sick joke.

With a sigh of relief, it was real; she was really here.

She shifted against him, her feet brushed against his as she settled, fitting perfectly into every nook and crevice of his body.

'Nothing should fit so well against this body,' Raistlin thought. He still felt uncomfortable with his form; still his doubts plagued him when Yurielle wasn't looking. But somehow Yurielle _did_ fit.

Proof then, at least in Raistlin's mind, that some aspect of him had played a hand in her design. “I never had a chance, did I?” he asked quietly to her sleeping form. “You were meant to snare me... by my own design.”

“My best Raistlin,” she murmured unconsciously back.

“Indeed,” he said. But he didn't feel like the best version of anything.

Raistlin thought then of that fateful day that had changed everything, the day they had met.

He recalled the crisp fall air as he sat astride his black steed at an intersection. In front of him was his destination, an ordinary building where letters and missives were relayed before delivery, for tucked in his robes was the latest letter sent by his twin.

It was still unopened.

Raistlin hadn't bothered to read even a single letter from Caramon but now, after so many, he was sick of seeing his brother's uncouth handwriting and was of a mind to return the wretched thing and done with it. The message he had written on the envelope would tell his twin once and for all how he felt and hoped it would end these interruptions of random letters.

Dalamar could have handled the task; in fact, the dark elf was used to sending missives both of magical and ordinary means for his Shalafi. But on that day Dalamar had left the Tower and Raistlin had decided he wished to browse the books in the Great Library.

The Archmage vividly recalled staring ahead at the simple building from within the shadows of his up-turned hood as he waited for a cart to clatter past. His lip had curled at the ridiculousness of someone like him going to mail back a stupid letter when there are matters of far more importance for him to begin.

His eyes had darted to the Library on his left as if drawn to it. The grand building with its white marble pillars and lush lawns, garish under Krynn's bright sun, called to him with promises of knowledge and secrets.

The letter could wait.

At that moment in time he had felt that becoming a god was more important than anything else. He recalled thinking that all his answers, his future, and his destiny, would be found inside the Great Library of Palanthas.

How wrong, and right, he turned out to be.

Raistlin gave a quiet sigh. If he had gone to the post first as planned, Yurielle could have left the Library by the time he had arrived. After all, she had been up all night in her studies and by that point would have realized she needed rest. He had been a heartbeat away from not meeting her and continuing down the dark road of ascension, dooming this timeline as well.

How one choice had changed so much!

Raistlin could argue with himself that he would have probably returned the following day and have met her anyway. In fact, his runaway mind went there as his thoughts whirled with possibilities and questions. Would their meeting have gone the same way or would he have already been too far into the grip of his dark destiny? Would going there and opening those books have been the first step down an irreversible path?

Had one day really made all the difference?

Did he ever have a choice in any of this?

He sighed again and gently hugged Yurielle to his chest while breathing in her familiar scent. Her warm body against his was calming to him; like a drug used to ease the mind, he had become addicted to her. She smelled of spell components, incense, and soap and it left him feeling at peace. In that space of contentment, Raistlin focused on the stillness her presence brought and he knew then that these questions around his Star were too complex for his mind to sort through now.

Yes, Yurielle was an enigma and there was no use in pondering what didn't happen. None of it changed anything in the here and now - not the path he was on nor the way he felt about her.

Instead, he thought about the fact that he was finally free of Fistandantilus.

It had only been a few mere days since Skullcap, but this was the very first time that the Archmage was able to just sit and absorb this turning point in his life.

He was finally Raistlin Majere again.

But, he had to ask himself, what did that _mean_?

It had been ten years and some months since he had taken the Test of High Sorcery, since he had sacrificed his fragile health and made a deal with a lich and since he had been cursed.

Or at least, that is what Raistlin once thought he had given for his magic. Now, in light of Nuitari's question, he was not even certain of that.

What _had_ he given for his magic?

He seemed to have everything now; his health, someone beside him, a Tower with followers, his freedom. Yes, it appeared he had all the things he could have dreamed of, even if it was all a convoluted mess of uncertainty right now!

Raistlin rested his head back against the pillows and for a few moments allowed himself to just listen to Yurielle's gentle breathing, again letting the questions fall away. Her warm breath tickled against his chest as she slept, her body pressed against his, warm and soft and most importantly _alive_. And dearer to him than anything he possessed.

He prayed then for sleep; prayed for an escape from these questions if only for a time.

But no sleep came, no gods granted his request, and so the inner turmoil raged on.

Now that the Archmage finally had a moment of quiet to himself, he found his mind kept trying to remember one thing: The life of the young man he was before walking into the Tower of High Sorcery to take his Test.

With clearer and clearer certainty Raistlin began to realize just how much Fistandantilus had altered his memories. All that stood out to him were the last ten years of his life, the years that the Archlich had preyed upon his essence and slithered in the dark corners of Raistlin's mind.

Of the years before that, of his childhood and teenage years, he could only clearly recall the painful times. Vividly he remembered his mother's death and of the days the bullies at school gained up on him. He remembered the rejection of the nameless chit who had wounded him by sleeping with his twin. All these he recalled as if they were yesterday.

But of anything happy or pleasant, the memories were like looking through a fog. Raistlin knew there _had_ to be good memories but the harder he searched, the emptier his past became. Actual events were gone, only shadows remained behind; echoes of things he was sure _must_ have happened.

Shifting slightly, he curled against Yurielle and again tried to find sleep. It didn't matter if he couldn't remember his past; all that mattered was the here and now with Yurielle. At least, this is what he tried to tell himself.

He had his heart, had his health, his freedom and most importantly his Star to light his way.

What else could he possibly need?

After what felt like hours of trying to find sleep, Raistlin gave up. Unable to deal with the chattering of his mind, he decided the best option was to return to his study. Perhaps there he'd find something to keep himself occupied and this time his lover did not stir as he left the warmth of the blankets and quietly put his heavy robe back on.

Leaving Yurielle to get her rest, Raistlin made his way into the other room.

First, he walked over to the desk and was greeted by a pile of books bound in night-blue leather. His eyes then flashed to his left where a section of shelves holding more volumes stood. He then turned to his right where even more spellbooks lined another large bookcase.

It was a wall of menacing blue and silver runes. Like a glittering tidal wave threatening to crash over him and crush him beneath its weight. Raistlin scowled at the bookshelves that were full to bursting with books and relics of Fistandantilus, refusing to let that sensation pull him down. He had read every one of those tomes front to back, either recently or during the years since coming to the Tower and claiming it for his own. He had studied the items in great detail, knew their properties and had deemed them too dangerous or important to be left beyond his reach.

All these items were now his and yet... he found that he was no longer drawn to them.

He picked up the topmost spellbook on his desk and held it in his hand. There was the usual tingle of cold in his fingertips as he waited for that feeling of pride he had developed over the years of possessing them. His brow furrowed when there was only silence.

No, not even silence.

It was indifference that he felt now.

Raistlin Majere no longer cared about the books he held in his possession.

Without the lich who had written them residing in him, Raistlin no longer felt the connection to these items. He was no longer proud of them and the knowledge that they contained. With sudden realization, he understood that the feelings had never been his in the first place, they had always belonged to the lich.

And now without Fistandantilus, Raistlin didn't feel the same about them.

Certainly, the knowledge within them was vast and extremely valuable, but his usual greed and possessiveness over them were greatly lessened. He found that he no longer wanted to hoard them all to himself.

“But what will I do with them?” he asked himself honestly.

Raistlin felt a strange sense of responsibility as to the fate of these books. Vast evil was contained within many of those pages. Was it right that he kept them hidden from mages who could use them? Or would letting this knowledge be attainable by any mage become a detriment to the world at large? For at the moment, all of this knowledge only resided within Raistlin and these books.

Letting the book fall from his fingers back to the desk with a dull thud, Raistlin turned and examined his study with a more critical eye.

So much of it, he realized, did not belong to him.

Once it had been his shelter, his sanctuary; it once felt like it was _his_.

But not now. Now he felt like a stranger inside his own home.

The thought unsettled him greatly.

Walking to the spot in front of the window where Nuitari had stood just hours ago, Raistlin Majere looked out over the Shoikan Grove. Winter had finally released its chilling grip upon the city and rain now pelted heavy against the Tower. Clouds had rolled in to cover the faces of the moons as if they themselves had gone to sleep, abandoning Raistlin to deal with his new inner uncertainty.

The rain's steady rhythm was lulling to the Archmage as he absorbed these new feelings inside of him; of being home yet not feeling as if anything here was even his, of knowing he had memories but they had been taken from him, of not understanding these other magics now in the world beside his own.

Not only that, but now that he was alone had time to think, Raistlin felt as if a strange void had begun to grow in him. It was not the same as the empty, all-consuming void from before Yurielle showed him love.

This was a void left behind with Fistandantilus' departure, an emptiness left behind in the absence of memories and sense of self as well as lack of defined purpose.

And it scared him.

“Who am I?” Raistlin asked quietly as he pressed his forehead to the cool glass of the window and felt the slow thrumming of rain against his skin.

As if in answer he heard Yurielle's voice call softly to him from the bedroom, “Raistlin?”

“Yes,” he replied to only himself as he made his way back to her, “I suppose that I am.”

****

The Inn was full tonight.

Not just with the usual influx of travelers and traders now that the roads were clear and dry with spring's arrival, but also with adventurers; individuals looking for fame and glory of their own.

Along with the usual Solace crowd, these travelers and adventurers had filled the Inns common room to capacity and then some. Every table was full, every bench along the wall crammed with customers. Small groups stood in the larger spaces between the tables and crowded the walkways. There was even a line out the front of the door as patrons waited for a taste of the famed Otik's Spiced Potatoes.

It was all the servers could do to keep everyone fed and drinks topped off. Tika and her dear friend and longtime employee Dezra, along with the small army of barmaids, table boys and cooks, hustled back and forth as fast as they could while Caramon manned the bar and assisted anyone interested in rooms. Not that they had any left at the moment, but the big man did his best to direct weary travelers to the other Inns down the road. So busy were they that even Raf, the gully dwarf Tika had taken pity on and 'hired' a while back, was soon overwhelmed by the sheer amount of dirty plates being hauled into the kitchen at a never-ending pace.

The cooks and other servers made him sit under a table out of the way and handed him food-covered platters to lick clean in an attempt to keep him occupied. Soon his stomach was so full that he had passed out near the door to the ale room and was in danger of being trampled by the nonstop flow of workers just trying to keep up with orders.

Scowling, Tika slammed down her tray of dirty dishes she brought in to be cleaned. “Raf!” she snapped and gave a light kick against the gully dwarf's thigh.

The small male rolled over, effectively wedging himself farther under the lowest shelf in the pantry. “Me full,” he grumbled. “No work.”

“Clean these dishes, Raf, or so help me!” the redhead growled and tried her very best to pull him out. She should have known better, for when cornered, gully dwarves are notorious for finding the smallest holes to disappear in. Raf was no exception, for soon the small dwarf had wiggled farther under the shelf and somehow disappeared into the cobwebs against the wall.

“Oh just leave him,” Dezra scowled as she took over washing the dishes left unattended by the gully dwarf. “He never gets them clean enough as it is,” she said, her arms elbow-deep in the sudsy water. “Best he not be seen right now anyway,” she commented as she worked. “A group with a hill dwarf just came in.”

“Oh?” Tika raised her eyebrows and quickly set to work drying the dishes Dezra already dunked through the rinsing sink. The woman worked incredibly fast! Tika had no idea how they would ever get along without her. Tika's best friend and confidant, Dezra was like a sister to Tika. “Do the girls need help out there?”

Dezra shook her head; the action dislodged a dark curl of hair from the white kerchief she had tied around her head to hold up her braided locks. “Nay, they're at the bar with Caramon. Turns out one is from Hillhome and niece to Flint Fireforge.”

Tika's eyes widened. “A Fireforge? Here?”

“Aye,” Dezra nodded as she scrapped the remaining grease and eggs off a plate into the bin for Raf. “They're regaling one another on stories and tales of valor and great deeds.” Her dark eyes met Tika's bright green. “They're already well into their cups by now.”

Tika took the hint and, taking the clean stack of washed dishes to the table near the cook so he could fill them with the next round of food, pushed her way through the swinging door to emerge right behind the bar where her husband stood. She frowned at the sight of six heavily armed and dusty adventurers now front and center at the bar and claiming Caramon's undivided attention. Each had a large mug of frothy ale in front of them.

And so did her husband.

“Tika!” Caramon beamed upon seeing her. “Come here! I want to introduce you to someone.” He took hold of her arm without waiting for a reply and pulled her to his side. “This fine frawl here is none other than Obsidian Fireforge, niece of our very own Flint!”

He was grinning ear to ear and Tika caught the scent of ale on his breath. This increased her scowl but he either didn't notice or didn't care as he continued to ramble off the names of the female dwarf's companions. Tika didn't bother to remember their names or take much notice of the two humans, an elf, a kender, and, shockingly, a minotaur that also occupied the bar.

“A pleasure.” She gave a small curtsy before taking Caramon by the arm. “A quick word, husband?”

“Aw, Tika, what about?” Caramon's face darkened in the tell-tale frown he used to use when he was having more fun drinking than actually focusing on what needed to be done - manning the bar and the Inn being chief among them. “They were just telling me about their quest!” he said, yanking his arm away and turning back to the party. “They think the axe that Flint used and lost while defending Hillhome belonged to none other than Reghar Fireforge and used during the Dwarfgate War!”

“Aye, ye be right 'bout that laddie!” the stout, dark-haired dwarf said before draining her mug with gusto. “A fine weapon that, and a fine legacy if we be findin' it!”

The others in the party cheered and drained their mugs. Caramon went to grab his but Tika snatched his wrist before he could raise it to his lips.

“A word, Caramon! NOW!” she hissed and pulled him, ale and all, through the kitchen door, nearly knocking over one of the servers exiting with a full tray of potatoes and bread.

“Tika, why are you so angry?” Caramon asked as he dabbed at the front of his tunic where some of the froth from his mug had sloshed onto his stomach.

She glared at him, her eyes darting between him and the mug in his hand, face growing redder by the second.

“It's just one drink!” he shot back, suddenly understanding why she was so irate.

“You promised,” she said, her voice low and threatening. “And your breath smells like it's been more than one. It smells like _several_ more, Caramon!”

Caramon scowled back, his face blotching with angry red marks. “It's rude to ignore a dwarf wishing to regale you with tales of an old friend. She's great, Tika! Reminds me lots of Flint,” he said, his voice going soft as all the anger suddenly left him. “We were just toasting to his memory is all, and one thing led to another and before I knew it my mug was refilled again.”

The sadness in his voice softened some of Tika's ire. “I know, Caramon,” she said and took the mug from his large hand and set it on the counter by the swinging door. “But you promised me, no more drinking. Please,” she turned back to him, her green eyes pleading, “no more today. If you stop now I'll not bring it up anymore and I won't be angry. I know that you want to drink to Flint's memory and you have now, so, please. I know you can do this. Just say no to any more offers of ale,” she said, her hands wringing at the front of her apron, wrinkling the crisp yellow fabric. “Flint wouldn't want to see you go backwards after all the hard work you've done to stay sober all these years.”

“Tika, I can handle a few mugs,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning down into a scowl that nearly sucked the breath out of Tika's lungs for how much the act reminded her of a certain wizard.

“I know you can, Caramon,” she sighed. “And now you've had your few. _Please_ , no more!”

“Fine,” he said and started pushing his way past her to get back to his new friends.

“Caramon!” Tika called before he left the kitchen, his hand still on the door. “Please,” was all she could say.

“That's right, Tika,” he said, thumping himself in the chest. “I'm Caramon Majere, Hero of the Lance. And I can drink a few harmless mugs of ale! I will honor the memories of my friends any way I see fit.” With that he pushed through the door, his hard eyes not leaving hers as he returned to his spot behind the bar.

Tika watched him go, dread filling her gullet and quickly turning it sour as her husband's drinking days came flooding back to her in a rush.

“Please, Caramon...” she whimpered before wiping her eyes in preparation to return to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/6/20: A few things of note. The word frawl is used in several Dragonlance D&D modules to describe a female dwarf. I really liked the term and decided to use it as well.  
> Speaking of D&D modules, Obsidian Fireforge and her misfit crew are all characters from the AD&D 2nd edition adventure "Flint's Axe"  
> I've always wanted more female dwarves in the DL stories (cuz they're awesome!) And when I got to researching around and found her I could NOT pass up the opportunity to include her in my story. She's badass and her companions are really interesting so I hope you'll enjoy their little addition and what will happen as a result of her visit to Solace.  
> Thanks again for reading, it was a bit of a slower chapter but I think its important to establish tone and mindset of the characters going forward.  
> Hope everyone is well and see you next week :)


	14. The Cost

Gray light was filtering through the window when Raistlin opened his eyes.

Yurielle sat next to him, her satchel against the side of her legs, an open book on her lap and a look of emptiness in her glassy eyes as she stared straight ahead at nothing, her face blank and devoid of expression.

“Yurielle?”

She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Silently Raistlin reached up and brushed it away, noting as he did that she was still feverish. “What's wrong?” he whispered a few moments later when she didn't react to him.

“It's gone...” she said finally, her voice just as sad and vacant as the expression on her face.

Raistlin looked at the book that she was studying and felt his heart drop, it was her spellbook.

Sitting up, he gently wrapped his arms around her. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

Eventually, Yurielle stirred at his touch, sniffed, and wiped her eyes. “I can read the spells, but the words mean nothing to me now,” she said, her voice warbling with tears. “I know the words and their meanings but... they suddenly don't stir anything inside of me! It's like there's... there's a hole there now...” She placed her hand over her chest and a sob escaped her, more tears fell.

The Archmage held her closer, wishing desperately for another way to tell her the truth of what had happened. “I'm sorry,” he said again, guilt twisting his insides. “I wish there had been another way, but I'm afraid this is my fault...”

“Yours?” she asked, surprised, finally animating as she looked at him.

“I said I'd never hurt you,” he whispered, drawing away. “Yet I keep doing it...”

“What do you mean, Raistlin?” she asked, not understanding. “How is this your fault?”

“When you saved me,” he began as he tucked stray hairs behind her ear, “it was the price you paid for the god's intervention.”

“Nuitari told you this?” she asked, her voice oddly blank.

He nodded and Raistlin Majere braced himself for her anger, for that telltale rise of fire inside her, for any feelings at all.

But Yurielle did nothing, said nothing.

As always her opposite calmness and silent acceptance disarmed him.

“Then it was worth it,” she finally concluded.

Raistlin desperately tried to find words of comfort as he studied her face. Pale and fatigued but still beautiful in her sadness, Yurielle's placid declaration and shift in emotional state unnerved him. She was too calm, too willing to let go of such a large piece of herself that Raistlin expected she was in shock.

Carefully Yurielle touched his face. “Don't blame yourself,” she said softly. “I asked for this, and if my arcane magic was the price to pay for your life, then so be it.”

“But-”

She pressed her finger to his mouth. “No,” she interrupted firmly. Leaning forward, Yurielle kissed Raistlin by his mouth next to where her finger pressed. “I love you,” she whispered.

“And I, you,” he replied. “But the price was too high, Yurielle.”

Her lips thinned into a hard line as she studied his face. “Nonsense,” she said. “I'd pay any price for you, Raistlin Majere.”

He went to argue but she cut him off again.

“Even if it hurts that my link to the arcane is gone, it doesn't matter because we're both still alive. We'll get through this, Raistlin, together. Though...” her voice trailed off.

“Though?”

“I don't know how I can balance the magic now,” she confessed. “What am I supposed to do?” Her eyes fell again to her spellbook. The words were clear to her yet the tingle of magic that they always stirred had vanished, leaving behind an ache to feel the rush of the god's blessing again. The gods had pulled away from her after she embraced the wild-magic but they had not forsaken her, for she still had a role to play. Now they were completely silent, their presence gone, and it left her feeling empty, like a dried-up well and lost, like an abandoned child.

What was her role now?

Raistlin gently pulled her against his chest in another embrace and said the only thing he could think of – the same that Astinus told her all those weeks ago: “You are simply just to _be_ , Yurielle. And that is enough...”

She sighed, though it came out like a small sob. Her near-perfect memory recalled who had originally told her that and she smiled sadly.

“Very well,” she said quietly after a few moments of letting the last of her tears fall. Yurielle wiped them away with a pale hand and turned to meet Raistlin's worried gaze. “I will figure out my magic on my own now, without the god's help or influence,” she declared, her voice growing confident as she spoke. “I'll solely anchor the wild-magic and pass on my discipline to others as we find them.”

Raistlin was looking at her strangely; like the way he had first looked at her so long ago as if she was something he had never seen before and was baffled. Again she ran her fingertips over his jawline.

“It's time to look ahead, Raistlin Majere, and not question why things are the way they are. We must focus on building our life and changing the world.”

Raistlin went to open his mouth but she interrupted him.

“What's done is done.” The tone in her voice told him that her mind was set. There was no more talking about it.

The Archmage gave a silent nod, his eyes still wary.

Taking her spellbook in her hand Yurielle put it back in her satchel and let the bag slip off the edge of the bed to the floor with a gentle thud. She sighed heavily before turning her attention back to him.

“So this is why I have this fever...” she said, her hand going to her forehead. “It makes sense I suppose.”

Raistlin could only nod, unnerved by her calmness.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. He was watching her as if expecting her to burst into hysterics.

“You're not...” he fell silent.

“Not what?”

“You're not _angry_ ,” he answered.

“Of course not, Raistlin,” she replied and laid back down next to him.

“You should be,” he said more to himself than to her.

“No, Raistlin, I shouldn't be,” she said as she settled back under the covers, pulling them up to her shoulders. “And neither should you.”

Their eyes met and Raistlin realized that he _was_ angry. Angry at the gods, angry at Fistandantilus, and most of all, he was angry at himself.

“Let it go,” she said sleepily when she saw that he was wrestling with his feelings again.

Raistlin sighed, for there was nothing else he could do. Instead of dwelling on it, he was content to simply stare at Yurielle, his eyes tracing her features. She looked exhausted.

Last night had been rough, for she had woken up several times in fear as memories of Skullcap invaded her fever dreams, warping them and turning them to nightmares. It was only after a strong herbal tea laced with a minute amount of poppy syrup had she finally found restful sleep.

“How do you feel today?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be but hoping that she at least felt better.

“I'm tired,” Yurielle said and ran her hand gently along his exposed arm. “Stay with me?”

“Always,” he replied.

***

In the few days that followed, Yurielle's fever went from one of magical withdrawal to one of physical sickness. Despite being healed by clerics and Raistlin taking the druids' warnings to heart, Yurielle's body was weakened from her ordeal and somewhere along the way she came down with a nasty case of flu. Her fever was never dangerously high but remained constant and so she did little else besides lay in bed and try to sleep. But unfortunately, sleep was hard to come by as she processed the events of the past few days.

Raistlin sat with her and held her during her crying bouts and listened as she tried to convey what it was that made her so afraid and tried to offer support due to her lost magic. However, her pain only served to echo the growing questions and empty feeling inside his being and as the days wore on Raistlin sought just as much comfort from her as she did him. However, he was silent about the things that troubled him, not wanting to make Yurielle worry, for she had enough to deal with.

Like the time when Takhisis had visited her, Yurielle again saw shadows in every corner, saw eyes staring back at her from the darkness, or whenever she closed her eyes. Only this time, instead of red dragon eyes they were glowing eyes from within fleshless skulls.

During the worst times, the decaying flesh that hung from the skulls resembled her face. Sometimes they leered back with Raistlin's but most of the time it was her sister's or that of the desiccated Par-Salian who taunted her with Fistandantilus' voice. The images would warp in her fevered state, leaving her trembling and drifting between reality and nightmare so that once or twice her wild-magic inadvertently surged forward in rushes of wind or she'd hide herself behind her shield of light.

To accompany the fever, Yurielle began to suffer aches and chills as well as developed a persistently deep-chested cough and stuffed-up head. Raistlin did what he could to make her comfortable, he made her herbal tea and brought her food, he brushed her hair to soothe away the bad visions. He read to her and warmed the chills from her body by allowing her to lay against him to soak up his unnatural heat.

Raistlin, by contrast, seemed fine. Though weak from the encounter with Fistandantilus, all it took for him was a day or so of solid rest and he was back to normal. The Archmage devoted this time to Yurielle but when she was sleeping peacefully he began to sort through things in their bedroom and study; gathering every item and book that stirred the sense of dispassion and unease within him.

At first it was almost an unconscious effort, but it soon turned into a silent obsession as he discovered more and more items that belonged to Fistandantilus and not to him. With growing despair, Raistlin realized just how little he had accomplished on his own during these years. So much around him had already been done and written by the Archlich; by that half of his soul he was now separate from.

The resulting sense that he had been used as an empty puppet began to gnaw at him but Raistlin stuffed these feelings into dark corners, locked them away behind the mental walls that once held the Lich. He did this so he wouldn't taint his Yurielle with these feelings, his problems. He told himself she didn't need the weight of his inner conflict as she healed. She had been right, now was the time to not question why things were the way that they had played out. So he focused on looking ahead to the future.

But what future that might be, Raistlin was at a loss because he had no past to draw from.

There was only Yurielle right now and she had become his sole reason for being. But there was a part of him that feared this; this fierce dependence on another.

Determined to stand on his own, Raistlin locked that feeling away with the others as the days went on.

Sisne and a few other mages that were still within the Tower came and went periodically to check on the both of them. It was the older white-robe who fussed and fretted the most until Raistlin's irritation got the better of him and he warded the room to keep visitors out. This made her angry of course, and it took a full day before Sisne stopped trying to find a way through his magic. Instead, her tactic was to make sure and hound him every time that Raistlin stepped out of the study for food or a quick errand.

The Archmage accepted her verbal abuse with stoic silence, for he knew that he'd rather have Sisne's ire on him outside his den than near Yurielle while she healed. She didn't know what they had gone through, couldn't grasp the changes they were each dealing with. So, in his mind, Sisne had no business near them, especially Yurielle.

Her well-meaning motherliness be damned, they could cope on their own!

To add to his growing list of concerns there was still no word yet from Dalamar nor from any that had gone to Wayreth. The Archmage was beginning to grow worried but his first priority was Yurielle. The Tower, the magehood, his own issues, all were pushed aside and swept under the rug while he focused on getting her healthy again.

On the morning of their fourth day back in the Tower, Raistlin entered the bedroom with a tray of tea and food for her. Wearily she sat up at his approach and gave a great sneeze that then spiraled downward into a fit of coughing.

“You definitely caught something in that swamp...” he commented as he set the tray down on the side of the bed. Pulling out a fresh pile of handkerchiefs from the sleeve of his rober he held them out for her.

“Probably,” Yurielle croaked and cleared her throat. Taking the clean stack of cloth from him she proceeded to blow her nose on one. The room filled with the obnoxious sound of honking.

“I brought you more elderberry tea,” he said once the room quieted enough for him to be heard. “And more herbs.”

Yurielle groaned at the sight of thick herbal tincture on the tray and with a petulant scowl at Raistlin, she rolled away from him and pulled the covers back over her head. From somewhere in the warm depths came a muffled “ICK!”

Raistlin rolled his eyes at her.

“I heard your eyes roll, Raistlin!” came her muffled retort.

“Yurielle, stop acting like a child and take your medicine. You know that it is helping you,” he reprimanded her tersely. They did this several times a day, and though it was endearing, her stubborn refusal of his herbal mastery was starting to wear thin on Raistlin's already taut nerves.

When she made no move to obey he grabbed the blankets and pulled them off of her with one hard tug. A burst of dark red hair exploded out from the covers and the Archmage almost laughed at the static mess he had created around his lover's head. The ridiculous sight for once dispelling his dire mood.

Yurielle glared up at him, her eyes still slightly glassy and red-rimmed, her nose puffy and rosy from the constant blowing to clear it. Seeing his smirk, her eyes suddenly sparked with a hint of mischief. “Maybe if you put something else in my mouth I'll feel better,” she said wickedly.

“What?” he asked, taken aback by her sudden and strange demand.

She wiggled her eyebrows at him in a suggestive manner.

Raistlin shook his head incredulously and let himself chuckle. “By the gods, Yurielle! Even sick, how do you manage to be hornier than a sailor just in port? Are you that desperate for a rut in the covers?!”

At this, Yurielle busted up laughing. The act, however, caused her to erupt into a severe coughing fit.

Raistlin, unable to offer any help besides massage her back, said, “Take the herbs, Yurielle, and rest. I know you're anxious to get better so that you can ravage me, but nothing of the sort will happen until you are well.” He gave her a stern look and held out the herbal concoction in his other hand, waving it in front of her face with his usual air of superiority.

Without a word she grabbed the little jar and dumped the thick green contents into her mouth. With a visible (and over-exaggerated) shudder, she swallowed the foul mixture and washed it down with a glass of water.

“There, happy?” she shot back and put the glass back down with a dangerously loud clunk.

“Very,” Raistlin couldn't help but grin at this victory. Sitting next to her he ran his golden fingers through the mad array of hair that now haloed around her head. “You are an adorable, irritable little mess this morning, my love,” he said as his long fingers worked gently at the snarls.

Yurielle gave a loud sigh, the act causing her to cough again. “I _do_ want to get well enough to ravage you,” she huffed when she could talk. “And I'm just tired of being a burden...”

“You are no burden, Yurielle,” Raistlin said, still surprised at her need for him physically. Even sick and weak, she constantly sought him out for comfort and affection. Both of which he offered freely, for he also needed the same from her during this time while he sorted out his own tangle of inner conflict.

“There's so much to be done,” she sniffed and picked at the blanket over her lap, weaving her fingers over the fabric as if she were drawing runes from memory. She was about to say more but his fingers over her hands stopped their nervous roaming. Indigo eyes shot up to meet his gaze.

“You are what matters to me right now, Yurielle,” he said softly. Gently he cupped the side of her face, palming her jaw warmly. “Words cannot convey how thankful I am that we got out of Skullcap in one piece. And if I can indulge in time well spent with you while we recover, then so be it.”

“But what Nuitari said...” she trailed off when his eyes hardened.

“I know what he said,” he replied. “But I will not leave your side. Besides, I have not been idle,” he added. “When I have had the time I have started sorting and moving Fistandantilus' books out of the study as well as scrying on Skullcap.”

“Have you found anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. Skullcap is silent.”

“Any word from Wayreth?” she asked, the word muffled due to her clogged sinuses.

“No,” he said and ran his fingers through her hair again. “I'm sure they've just been busy. I'll have Sisne or Nyx go to the Temple later today again to see if there is news.”

“The shield is still up then?” she asked, referring to the one around the Tower, making travel and sending messages impossible.

He nodded as he continued to gently run his fingers through her hair.

“You torture her you know,” Yurielle sighed as his long fingers traced along her scalp, calming her. “Sisne just wants to help.”

“She is helping,” he said with a slight upturn of his lips, “by doing what I tell her and staying out of my way.”

Yurielle rolled her eyes.

“If she had her way she'd be in here nonstop and neither one of us would get any rest,” Raistlin scowled in the direction of his study as if he could see the petite woman hovering on the other side of the entry.

Suddenly Yurielle swayed slightly, her congested sinuses were still making her dizzy. Seeing this, Raistlin steadied her until it passed. She nodded that she was better and he took his hands off her so that she could blow her nose again.

Despite her lingering symptoms and the fact that she was quickly growing to hate the herbal remedy that Raistlin was making for her, Yurielle had to admit that it _was_ working. She was pretty sure that without it, she would have gotten worse instead of her slow improvement over the last few days. The teas he prepared and constantly made her drink were different every time to address what plagued her at any given moment and little by little her symptoms were easing.

“What did you bring to eat?” she asked, changing the subject and eyeing the covered plate on the tray he had brought. Her stomach gave a tiny rumble to reinforce her question.

“I was hoping your stomach would be more cooperative than you today,” he teased and reached over her lap to grab the tray and brought it closer. He chuckled when Yurielle gave him a peevish look but it quickly was replaced with astonishment when he pulled the cover off to reveal a selection of cooked eggs, breakfast potatoes, and a glazed honey and cinnamon roll.

“Did _you_ make that!?” Yurielle asked in surprise, reaching for the sticky roll.

Raistlin flicked her hand with a finger. “Eat everything else first, _then_ you can have the sweet,” he said with a smirk at her scowl. He knew full well that the obnoxious surgery roll would be her first helping if allowed. “But, to answer your question, no, I didn't make it. I went out into town this morning while you were still sleeping and I thought you'd like a treat.”

Him venturing out into the city was just as surprising to Yurielle as the heaping spread of food before her. The fact he had gone out of his way to get her a sweet, filled her insides with warmth and the vision of her dour Darkness hovering over a counter of freshly baked goods brought a smile to her lips.

As far as the rest of the food went, she knew that Raistlin could cook, having learned that fact when he was taking care of her while healing from Takhisis's visit. He was a good cook, surprisingly better than she had been expecting, though what he often brought her was usually just slight variations of the same thing. But, with his knowledge of herbs, he always made the most mundane of food items taste far better than she could have imagined. And so, because of this, Raistlin's potatoes and eggs were some of her favorite breakfasts that he'd make for her.

“You never go out into the city,” she commented through a mouth full of oozing eggs. With a sigh, she smiled as the flavor began to fill her mouth. Due to her cough and stuffed up head, food hadn't been very flavorful up until now.

Watching her pleased reaction to the food Raistlin asked, “Do the eggs taste better today?”

Yurielle nodded and scooped up some potatoes and shoved them into her mouth with a healthy appetite. “Very much so,” she said as she chewed. “Gods, Raistlin, where did you learn to make potatoes like this?! They're so good!” she said as the spices quickly began to work through her sinuses and she was forced to stop eating in order to blow her nose.

“It's a recipe from the Inn of the Last Home,” he replied and again ran his fingers through her hair. This time he paused to feel her forehead. With a tiny scowl, he commented, “You still have a fever. Maybe I should take you back to the Temple to be healed... This isn't from losing the arcane magic anymore so the clerics should be able to help you now.”

“No, Raistlin,” Yurielle said. “We don't need to run me to a cleric every time I stub my toe. I'm feeling better today; more than I did yesterday.” It was true. Though she was pretty ill, she definitely felt like she was improving.

“My body is perfectly capable of getting over this. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if the fever breaks by this afternoon.” She gathered up more eggs and potatoes and before she shoved them into her mouth she asked, “Isn't the Inn of the Last Home in Solace?”

Raistlin nodded and brought his hand away from her face. “It is,” he answered. “Otik's Spiced Potatoes are very popular and I guess I sometimes crave them. Though, I do not make them as spicy as he does.”

Yurielle raised an eyebrow. “They're spicier than _this_?” Indeed, her nose was in full out revolt now from the spice and she had to stop again to reach for another hankie before her face erupted in a stream of snot.

He nodded as he stood up and went to open the curtains on the window to let in the pale morning light. It was a warm spring morning and maybe he'd open the windows later to give her some fresh air...

“You know I can't handle much spice,” he commented as he went to the next window. “So I make them with less pepper and more garlic and butter. I prefer them this way.”

Yurielle gave an agreeing hum as she finished up the breakfast and took a sip of the herbal tea that sat on the tray beside the food. “That was good, Raistlin. Thank you!” She smiled up at him over her steaming mug.

He returned to the bedside and gathered up the plates. “Don't you want to eat that?” he asked, indicating the sticky cinnamon roll.

Yurielle grinned at him. “Only if you share it with me, Archmage, while you tell me what sort of adventures you had while in the city.”

Raistlin nodded. “Very well, but just a bite,” he said and settled back down next to her on the bed.

Yurielle smiled and broke off a good chunk from the roll, getting honey and breading all over her fingers, and held it out to him.

Raistlin leaned in and took a bite right from the piece in her fingertips.

“Good?” she asked.

The Archmage nodded but didn't reply. He refrained from speaking with food in his mouth and often reprimanded Yurielle for her bad (or more correctly in his own words 'uncivilized') habit.

Taking a large bite of the roll Yurielle made a pleased noise through her stuffed mouth.

Raistlin watched her finish the roll by herself, declining any more offers to share it. “I was getting a few things for the Tower that I've been meaning to,” he was saying in response to her wanting to know why he went into Palanthas.

“Such as?” she asked through a full mouth.

“I ordered more shelves for one of the rooms on the upper level,” he replied with a disapproving frown at her gross habit.

Yurielle couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled up in her at seeing his face. “Sorry,” she said once she swallowed the sticky bread. “Why do you need more shelves?” she asked before shoving the last of the roll into her mouth.

“I've been moving Fistandantilus' books and possessions up there.”

Yurielle arched an eyebrow at him over the rim of her mug as she took another large drink of tea. “You mentioned that,” she said when her mouth was clear. “What made you decide to move them?” she asked, picking at the few crumbs that had fallen on the blanket over her legs and licking them off her fingers. She was surprised Raistlin had allowed her to eat the roll in bed but she knew that if she didn't get every last crumb he'd go on about it later.

Raistlin, ignoring the crumbs he knew would irritate him later, looked across the room to the few books that had once belonged to the Archlich that remained on the far shelf.

“I find I don't want them near me,” he said quietly. “Now that we're separated I...” He shook his head, not really sure how to put the thoughts and feelings he had been dealing with these past few days into words.

As if sensing his inner turmoil Yurielle gently reached out and touched his chin, bringing his attention back to her. Meeting his eyes she said softly, “You have seemed troubled these past days. How are _you_ feeling, Raistlin?”

He took her hand in his and ran his fingers over her knuckles. “I feel fine, Yurielle. Use your energy to heal, not for worrying about me.”

Her mouth turned down at the corners in the manner that she picked up since knowing him. “You know that I don't mean, how do you ' _feel_ '. I mean, what is going on _inside_ of you...” she squeezed his hand, “Do you still feel Fistandantilus? Or remnants of him?”

Raistlin shook his head. “No, his presence is completely gone from inside me.”

“Then why are you so restless?” she asked and gently raised her other hand to run along the nape of his neck, massaging the skin under his hairline. “I know you've been trying to hide it. But you seem distracted and... I don't know...” she thought a moment, “Directionless now.”

“Directionless,” he agreed with a sigh. “That is one way to put it I suppose.”

“Talk to me,” Yurielle said gently, her free hand went to join the first on his neck, massaging gently to soothe the tight muscles she felt. He really was more stressed than he was letting on.

“I'm... not sure where to even begin,” he replied softly, leaning into her caress and thankful for her gentle touch.

“Don't take all of this on by yourself,” she pleaded, feeling anxious that her suspicions were right. “I know I can't possibly understand what it must be like for you, to live for a decade with the shadow of someone else inside of you and now to have that gone...”

He sighed again; of _course_ she sensed these things within him. Only Yurielle knew when something bothered Raistlin Majere while anyone else shied away from him in order to avoid a foul glance or risk his ire due to his simmering moods. He gave a small shake of his head.

“It... is strange,” he admitted quietly. “I can't explain it. But, I feel...” He shook his head harder now as if to clear it and set his thoughts in order.

It was several moments before he continued. “Ten years and I feel as though I've forgotten who I was before my Test,” he confessed quietly as if this was something to be ashamed of; as if were a weakness he had brought on himself and should be judged for. He hated admitting it, even to Yurielle. But he knew she wouldn't judge him for his fears.

Yurielle stopped her administrations on his neck and moved her fingers to trace along his face. She didn't say anything, only listened, and for that Raistlin was grateful. She had been right, there was no way she could really understand the strange sense of not knowing who he was after so many years of sharing his existence with another.

Every moment not in her presence these last days, Raistlin found himself being sucked into a vast state of unknown. If he wasn't trying to sort through the vague memories that constantly hid from him, he was trying to come to terms with his ever growing loathing of Fistandantilus' items. If he wasn't absorbed with these problems he was craving Yurielle's touch and her comfort, only her illness kept him from crushing her to him and getting lost in the warm cradle of her body. Secretly he wanted her healthy so that she could make good on her word and ravage him until his bones hurt. Such a thing would be a welcome distraction to his problems. However, Raistlin knew it was a selfish desire so he kept it to himself.

But, oh how he wanted those legs around him! How he wanted to bury himself deep inside her and ignore all else. Right now, Yurielle was all he really understood and she was the only solid pillar in this life suddenly filled with uncertainty and self-doubt.

Yurielle studied his face before finally saying, “I am sorry that you are struggling. I wish I wouldn't have gotten so sick. I would have been in a better position to help you-”

“No, Yurielle.” He cut her off. “Taking care of you has given me a much-needed respite from this... lack of... myself...” he said, struggling with the words.

“I'm here for you, Raistlin Majere,” Yurielle whispered to him before arching up and kissing him between the eyes. “I didn't know the Raistlin Majere from ten years ago, but I've gotten to know the man in front of me pretty well and I know that his will is strong enough to find his way again.”

“As long as you keep shining for me, my Star,” he said.

“Always,” she echoed his promise from the other night with a smile.

Raistlin took her hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips. “Always,” he murmured gently.

“You _are_ kind of stuck with me right now, Archmage,” she said before starting to cough again. When the fit passed she said through a voice thick with phlegm, “So, for better or worse, sick or healthy, I'm going to do my best to light the way for you...!” She barely finished the words before she was forced to blow her nose yet again.

A sincere smile spread across Raistlin's face and he couldn't take his eyes off of Yurielle as she honked and made all matter of disgusting, mucus-filled noises.

“What?” she asked when she found him gawking.

“I don't think I've ever loved you more, Yurielle,” he said quietly, sincerely.

“That's sweet and all,” she sniffed as she searched the bedside for another handkerchief, “but I'm gross right now. Please stop making moon-eyes at me, Raistlin Majere!”

The Archmage couldn't help but chuckled as he got up and began clearing away the empty tray of food and the scatter of extra tea mugs. Then, with a grimace, he proceeded to pick up her discarded hankies one by one off the floor.

“You _are_ a bit gross,” he teased as he worked. “But I still love you,” he added and swiftly kissed her on the side of her head before turning to leave. “I'll be in the study for a while. Call if you need anything.”

“Yes, Raistlin,” Yurielle sighed and lay back against the pillows. Just as he left through the doorway she called out, “Oh, Raistlin?”

“Hmm?” he hummed as he stuck his head back through the door.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/14/20: I apologize this is a day late. The weeks been full of weirdness. I got into a hornets nest earlier this week which resulted in me falling and hitting my head, throwing out my neck and shoulder so I've been having headaches. Yesterday it turned into a full on migraine (we also had a huge storm roll through which usually triggers headaches and while I was first typing this I had to stop due to a tornado warning)  
> Anyway, there's my sob story! but I'm feeling better today and the weather left us unharmed. What a weird chain of events. Hopefully next week runs smoother.  
> Thanks for your patience and as always I appreciate you reading :)


	15. Memories and Ale

If the loud, raucous laughter coming from the Inn's common room was any indication, then Caramon and his friends were at it again.

Tika exited the kitchen with her pail of soapy water meant for her husband to scrub tables with and found that her suspicions were correct - he was already in front of the hearth, regaling his new friends with stories of old.

The small adventuring group of six, including the dwarf Obsidian Fireforge, was still staying at the Inn after their arrival several days ago. Though a decent enough bunch, their presence only served to bring up old memories that Tika would rather soon forget and thus, in her opinion, were overstaying their welcome. Tonight was the fourth night in a row that she would be forced to close down the Inn by herself while Caramon drank to the health of long lost friends and deeds of heroic valor.

He'd be stone drunk by the end of the night, Tika knew, and she dreaded it already. Four years of a _mostly_ sober Caramon were evaporating before her very eyes. She sighed as she set to work, trying not to draw any attention to herself.

It didn't work.

“There's my warrior bride!” Caramon beamed, seeing her come from the kitchen. “I was just telling them about when Verminaard's men rounded us up and took us to Pax Tharkas.”

“My favorite part is when you bashed in that draconians' head!” the kender in the group, Pentrian, said with a flourish as if holding a heavy skillet in one hand and beating something senseless with it. The others laughed when his fist got caught in his robes, sending him off-balance and nearly tumbling to the floor with a drunken laugh of his own. “Meant to do that!” he chirped and righted himself, his face going right back into his mug.

Tika shook her head and said nothing as she started washing down tables, choosing to ignore the kender and the others. The small male was probably the most un-kender-like kender that Tika had ever met. More serious than most (and that's saying something!) this kender was garbed in white clerical robes and from his thin neck hung the infinity symbol of Mishakal. At first, many who saw him thought it a sick joke.

But the kender was more than happy to prove to naysayers that he had indeed studied and been indoctrinated into the Holy Order of the Stars. He was proud of his clerical duty and was an instrument of his goddess to heal and help those around him. Since his arrival in Solace, he had cured another patron in the Inn of a persistent headache and had healed one of the cooks of a nasty grease burn, thus silencing any doubts.

Their laughter was going to give _her_ a headache and the redhead ignored their pleas to reenact her best moves with skillet or sword. They were drunk so they weren't picky as to what fighting style. Tika knew that she could swing a broom handle at them and they'd call her fit to wield a dragonlance at this point.

Wringing the cloth out into her bucket, she went to another table, growing more concerned by the moment as Caramon's war stories went on and he continued to wax poetically over heroic deeds that he and the rest of the Companions had accomplished during those fateful years during the War of the Lance.

She shook her head. Despite how he talked her up in his tales, Tika knew she was no hero, especially now.

These days she was just a mother and content with the role and the challenges that came with it. Now her battles consisted of getting her children to put both shoes on and washing behind ears, not facing armies of Takhisis' minions. She was a barmaid, not the clumsy fighter that somehow managed to survive her way through a war by bashing in a few brains and sticking her enemies with the pointy end of a sharp object. The only thing she possessed was luck and a skill to be quick enough not to get captured or stabbed, so she had survived. Nothing more.

There were countless others that could not boast the same skills (or lack thereof) and there was not a day that went by when Tika thought of the citizens of Solace that were no longer here. Many had met horrific fates that day as the dragons descended upon the town, burning and killing. The dead were not here to see their city be rebuilt on the ground instead of up in their beloved trees.

What had the world come to when barmaids were heroes, tree folk feared the trees, and husbands forgot their promises to stop drinking?

“You should have seen him!” Caramon suddenly roared with laughter. “Trussed up in a woman's skirts, Flint looked as though he were about to attend a Flower Pole dance more than sneak past a half-blind dragon!”

Wanting desperately to put the memories of the War behind her, Tika refused to listen to Caramon's retelling of their escape from Pax Tharkas as she continued to close the Inn's common room for the night. To this day she still couldn't figure out how they had survived the terrifying ordeal, one with dragons and draconians in abundance.

But survive it they did only to face more and more danger in the weeks, months and years to come; more darkness, more heartache and such loss...

Obsidian and her companions roared with laughter as the big man continued to tell the tale. The six of them hung on Caramon's every word, enjoying his stories and enthralled by the retelling of events in Pax Tharkas, completely oblivious to Tika's worry that her husband was going to do or something one of them would regret if the booze kept flowing as it was.

“And you, good sir,” Obsidian, her dwarven accent thicker than most, said as she toasted her host with a full mug of frothy ale, “Did ye partake of this clever plot ta hide yerself in woman's garb?”

“How could they hide all _that_ under skirts?” Erastin Rivenguard, the group's fighter asked, waving a hand at the big man to clearly indicate Caramon's large stature would fool no one if put in a dress.

Tika shot the man a look that he didn't see but just as quickly had to avert her gaze. Erastin's resemblance to Sturm Brightblade was uncanny, with his long dark mustache and lofty dreams to become a true Knight of Solamnia. The only thing that looking at him accomplished was to remind Tika of one of many losses that she and the companions had suffered during the War.

During their over-extended stay, Tika had finally taken to mind these travelers' names but it didn't warm her to them more than necessary. She just wished they'd get on with their own adventures and leave. She just wanted them to stop talking to her husband, for all he was doing was remembering.

Remembering and drinking.

“Yes, tell us, Caramon Majere,” drawled the group's most unlikely companion (more so than a kender cleric!), one of the minotaur race by the name of Karathos. He was an imposing figure with his duel battle axes and gruff demeanor. “How _did_ you manage to convince your captors that you were a fair-faced maiden?”

Tika snorted to herself as she swept beneath some tables. Her husband was still a handsome man, despite the bit of weight he had gained over the years. However, in his prime, Caramon's features had turned many heads and made countless women swoon at his passing. But fair-faced he'd never be; his jaw was too wide, his bulk too masculine, his voice far too deep. His hands alone were large and calloused, made for holding weapons and punching foes. His face, even clean-shaven, sported a near-constant shade of stubble and was unmistakably male no matter how you tried to disguise it with silks and ribbons.

Fair-faced indeed!

“You think this face isn't pretty?” Caramon grinned and batted his eyes, framed with their impressive full, dark lashes, in response to the minotaur's question, the act drawing more chuckles from his audience. “But to answer your questions, yes, I disguised myself as well. We all had to do it if our plan was to work! You should have seen how much I had to stuff my chest to make it convincing!” He put his hands out in front of his body. “Why I think I put my dear Tika to shame!” he declared and jiggled his frame, drawing more guffaws and toasts in honor of the curvaceous female form.

Tika rolled her eyes at the joke made at her expense. Everyone within five leagues of Solace knew of the big-chested Tika Waylan Majere, so for Caramon to boast that he had made himself larger than her was a ridiculous sight indeed. Tika glanced over to see how lost in the story her husband had become as he took another drink from his mug. She wanted to confront him, wanted to tell him to stop and keep his promise to her, but the last thing she wanted was to make a scene or to set Caramon off.

He'd deny it, but Tika knew how he got when he was into his cups...

“Now, Flint would not be outdone!” he was saying as he wiped foam from his upper lip, swaying slightly. “If he was to dress as a fine frawl then he was to do it proper! He braided his hair and beard and made a real show of his lovely locks.”

“Aye, me uncle sure did have a fine beard back in tha day,” Obsidian said with a fond smile as she patted her own braided side-whiskers.

“Not as fine as yours,” Caramon said with a wink. “I mean... your hair not your beard. Not that your beard isn't lovely..!” he stammered, flushing bright red and draining his mug to hide his blunder.

“Ye be wishin' yer beard were half as nice as mine!” Obsidian shot back good-naturedly and brushed one of her thick braids off her shoulder to fully display her coveted chin whiskers.

The sides of her face and part of her jaw sported the usual light layer of hair typical of dwarven females. The women of that race were not shamed by their facial hair, but rather, were proud of it. Side-whiskers were an attractive feature among dwarven kind and Obsidian's were long enough to braid and adorn with the beading popular with females among the race. It was a decorative feat that many other frawls were jealous of. Indeed, Obsidian Fireforge was said to be a rare beauty and was highly sought after by many males, but her love of adventure kept her from settling down.

Caramon laughed and rubbed at his messy, day-old stubble, admitting defeat. He took another swig from his mug before nodding. “I dare say you must have inherited your beard from Flint's side, eh? You have his look, though not his attitude...” he added with a fond smile.

“Aye, ye be right on that point, laddie!” she laughed with a smirk, giving the tassels at the ends of each small braid along her jaw a clink with a flick of her fingertip. “Me beard's a gift from pa's side. Only me sister, Garnet Fireforge, can boast of such fine locks! And I dare say she's more like uncle than I,” she said wistfully and called for a toast to the memory of Flint and dour relatives. The group, including their host, all drained their mugs as one.

“Well, my compliments for inheriting all the best Fireforge traits!” Caramon grinned as he filled their mugs again - on the house of course.

They'd be out of ale by weeks end if this kept up! Tika shot her husband a scowl but he was clearly not paying attention to her. His eyes were on the niece of his dead friend and mentor, a wistful look on his face, one of memory and sadness.

Tika eyed Obsidian as well, but not with eyes clouded by years of fond memories. The dwarven woman was handsomely attractive even by human standards. Her large, dark eyes, so very much like her deceased uncles, were black as coals. And, like Caramon had pointed out, Obsidian had a good sense of humor that came with a loud, infectious laugh. It made her different from the dour Flint, but there was an obvious likeness between them, a presence as it were, that anyone who had known Flint would easily sense. Tika thought that under any other circumstance she and Obsidian would probably become friends.

But not now...

It wasn't Obsidian's fault of course, but Tika was resentful of her arrival right when Caramon had promised to completely stop drinking. How were they supposed to know that the genial man loved his stories and that his self-control was parchment-thin these days?

“Now, them are some tall tales no doubt,” another member of the troupe spoke up from where she sat reclined against the wall, her feet on the table as she played with a coin, rolling it along her knuckles.

Tika had learned that her name was Galenye. The charming woman had dark eyes and waving hair of equal shade. She wore a short sword on her hip with practiced ease and her long fingers were never idle. Tika recognized a fellow pick-pocket when she saw one. She also noted the looks of longing that the woman cast the Knight-to-be. There was something between the two humans but Tika didn't care enough to find out what.

Next to Galenye sat the final member of Obsidian's adventuring band, a Qualinesti female elf named Selowen. The elf was shy and said little, but Tika had learned that she was magically inclined and studying to become a wizard with goals to someday take her Test of High Sorcery. Because of this, Tika stayed as far away from her as politely possible. She also hoped that she would not bring up a certain _other_ wizard.

Her hopes, however, blew away like so many other wishes.

“Say, Caramon,” Selowen chimed up in her clear, elven voice, “tales tell that you have a brother, one who is a mage of some renown. Was he there at Pax Tharkas during this grand escape and fall of the Dragon Highlord Verminaard?”

“Yeah, Raist was there,” Caramon said wistfully as he poured himself another drink, a sad smile on his face and in his eyes.

“Raist? That's a funny name,” Pentrian giggled drunkenly into his mug and promptly fell off his stool, spilling ale all over his white robes and across the floor.

“It's _not_ a funny name,” Caramon growled hotly at the prone kender on the floor, his fists clenched at his sides, face reddening.

“Hey, he didn't mean anything by it,” Erastin said in alarm at the sudden shift in their hosts' demeanor as he stepped over his drunk friend and put a hand up to block Caramon.

The big man grunted and hid his face with his mug of ale, ignoring the looks the others gave him and at one another as he loudly gulped the thick liquid. His face, ears, and neck were red and splotchy and his eyes glassy.

Pentrian attempted to push himself up off the floor and only managed to tip his stool over with a clatter. “Oops,” mumbled, “Meant ta do that!” He hiccuped loudly, rolled over and promptly passed out, several shiny baubles and a butter dish spilled out of his pouches.

Galenye sighed and left her spot at the table. “Always the first to call it a night, ain't you, little rabbit?” she asked and scooped the small male up into her arms and gave her knightly companion a meaningful glance. The kender's head lolled to the side as he snored and twitched in her arms.

Caramon coughed into his mug, sending foam up into his face in reaction to the odd nickname the woman gave the kender. He stared at them all over the rim, blurry-eyed as if questioning if they were really there in front of him, as he drained his sixth or seventh mug.

Tika watched as his face fell and her heart followed. Only she knew how once Caramon had stayed up with his twin, comforting him with hand shadows in the shapes of rabbits. In the state he was currently in, sauced to his eyebrows, all it took was one small reminder and he was teetering on the edge of his emotions. _'Please,'_ she thought to herself, _'please keep it together.'_

“Aye, best get 'im ta bed,” Obsidian ordered needlessly, for the human woman was already half up the stairs with the comatose kender.

“What time is it?” Erastin asked a few awkward moments later. He gave a jaw cracking yawn and looked around, finally noting that they were the only ones left in the common room.

“It's past closing,” Tika declared, scowling at the mess the kender had made on the floor. She brought her bucket over and knelt to pick up his 'borrowed' items. With an irritated sigh, she began to wash up the ale before it dried into a sticky mess.

Seeing that someone needed help effectively snapped Caramon out of his stupor. “I got it, Tika.” He fumbled as he too dropped to his knees next to her, taking the rag from her roughly in his big hands. He was trying to be helpful but only managed to knock the water bucket over, spilling it across the floor and soaking Tika's skirts.

“Caramon!” she exclaimed in exasperation.

“Sorry, Tika!” he stared in horror at the bigger mess he created and tried to catch the bucket as it rolled away.

“Just... go to bed, Caramon!” Tika ordered, getting up and wringing out her skirts as best she could. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of ale and dirt. “You're drunk and will only be in the way!”

“Tika...!” he returned in wounded tones, his eyes large and watery, the red blotches on his skin spreading from shame now instead of anger.

“Don't start with me!” she huffed with a glare as she went to the kitchen to find a mop.

Selowen, realizing she wasn't going to hear anything about the famed wizard Raistlin Majere, sighed and gathered her things from the table in front of her. Putting her small spellbook into her pack, she wished her companions and Caramon a good night before following Galenye up the steps to the room they shared.

“Your wife is angry,” Erastin observed as he ran his hand down his mustache in a manner eerily similar to the way Sturm used to.

“Oh, no...” Caramon looked down at his big hands in his lap, his knees and legs had become soaked in ale and suds as it spread across the floor. “I promised her!” He sniffed pathetically, fighting back tears of shame.

The knight, dwarf, and minotaur exchanged wary glances just as Tika returned with a mop and more rags. “Get yourself out of that mess!” she hissed under her breath and tossed the cleaning rags at him.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled and attempted to wipe ale and mud off his trousers while simultaneously trying to regain his feet. He swayed drunkenly and if it wasn't for the minotaur's quick reflexes, the big man would have taken out the row of stools and crashed to the floor.

Tika stared at her guests; mortification and shame stamped across her features as her husband nearly lost consciousness in front of them all.

Obsidian, recognizing what was happening, deftly hopped off her stool. “Aye that last pint addled ya didn't it, big man?” she tried to cut through the tension with a tease. She then turned to Tika and asked, “Be there a place for him ta sleep it off?”

Tika blinked away the tears threatening to choke her and started dabbing at the mess on the floor with furious swipes of her mop. “We gave up our room to you,” she said as she worked. “So either he sleeps in the kitchen with Raf or you'll have to haul his drunken mass back home.”

She wrung the mop out into the bucket and Caramon gave a great belch and mumbled something pathetically under his breath. To the group it sounded like gibberish but Tika caught the word rabbit and Raist, her heart twisted.

“Oh, just leave him in the corner!” Tika exclaimed, her eyes shimmering as she righted the stools in an attempt to hide her face. “It wouldn't be the first time...” she mumbled in shame.

“He can sleep in our room,” Erastin said and Karathos nodded in agreement. Without another word, the minotaur hooked Caramon's arm around his thick neck.

“You don't have to do that,” Tika said, her eyes wide. “Please, don't give up your comfort on account of our family problems.”

“I'll walk home,” Caramon said through several hiccups and tried to elbow his way out of the minotaur's grip. He only managed to slump against the large beast-man, his eyes rolling back into his skull.

The bovine male grabbed the big man by the waist and hauled him towards the steps. Erastin joined the effort and together the two started carrying the inebriated innkeeper between them. The steps creaked ominously at their combined weight as they ascended to the second floor.

“Nonsense,” Tika heard the human man say in response to something that Caramon mumbled. “You can tell us more of the dragon fight. I'd love to hear-” his voice faded as they disappeared up to their room.

Tika turned to find the dwarven woman had already gone to her knees and was sopping up the spilled ale with the rags Caramon had abandoned. “Oh, no! Please, I can do this,” Tika insisted and tried to take the rags from her.

“Nay!” Obsidian shot her a glance. “Consider it a debt paid fer us stirring up trouble.” Her black eyes softened as she took in Tika's face. “Had we known yer husband fought control with the drink...” She shook her head and returned to cleaning the floor.

“It's not like that,” Tika tried to say as she dabbed at the mess that had collected under the bar. “Caramon just...”

“I've dealt wit enough addled dwarves in tha day that I should 'ave seen tha signs,” Obsidian said. “Yer husband has o' history with the drink and is losin', if I were ta be guessin'.”

Tika couldn't suppress the sob that managed to escape her and she paused to rub her eyes, realizing as she did that tears were running down her cheeks. “It's none of your business,” she whispered as she angrily tried to dry her face. The dwarf's strong hand on her forearm made her pause.

“Aye, it _is_ me business,” Obsidian said. “Uncle Flint would box me ears if he knew I'd come an' made a mess o' his friends. Forgive us, Tika,” she said. “What can we do ta help set it right?”

“Leave,” Tika blurted without thinking. “Please! You only bring up painful memories for Caramon.”

Obsidian made to reply but Tika interjected, “I know you didn't mean it,” she said as she wiped her eyes. “But, the thing is, Caramon was already having a hard spring before you arrived,” Tika confessed. “He's been having dreams of the past, dreams of the War, dreams of his brother,” she finished with a whisper. She gave a shudder and again attempted to dry her face but it was a losing battle. “When he gets this way, he drinks and when he drinks he...” She shook her head. A long ringlet of curls had come out from under her kerchief and dragged through her wet cheeks.

The dwarf female took Tika by the arm and helped her stand from the floor. “Come now,” she patted her hand and led her over to a table. “Me thinks ye be needin' an ear to spill to. That's it,” she encouraged the woman to sit, “Old Uncle Flint were a crank, but he always listened when someone needed it.”

Leaving Tika to collect herself, Obsidian went behind the bar. Looking around she soon found a glass and began to push bottles around as she searched, the room filled with various clinks and thuds as bottles and crocks collided; the sound drowning out the few sobs from the upset barmaid. Opening a fancy looking crystal bottle, she sniffed the contents and nodded to herself in satisfaction. Pouring half a glass Obsidian brought it over and set it in front of Tika.

“Just a sip now,” she said. “Ta calm ye nerves so ye can better tell the tale.”

Tika eyed the glass warily before taking it in her hands. “I don't know if I should,” she said hesitantly.”

“Do ye have a drinkin' problem too?” Obsidian asked, her hands on her stocky hips.

Tika shook her head.

“Then drink an' calm yer nerves,” the dwarf instructed and left her side.

Bringing the glass to her lips, Tika caught the whiff of fragrant elven wine, the most expensive they had on hand. Doing as instructed, she took a small sip to wet her throat and set the glass back down and regarded the dwarf who had brought her mug over and joined her at the table. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Aye.” Obsidian nodded and drank from her mug. “Now, tell me yer troubles, lass, and of why me an' me group should be leavin' Solace so soon.”

Tika took another sip of the wine before telling Obsidian (without going into extreme details) about Caramon during the War, about him and his twin, about how Raistlin left him and of how Caramon was now plagued with nightmares. By the time she finished telling the dwarf about the last few years and of how much Caramon had changed, the glass in front of Tika was long empty, as was Obsidian's mug.

When finished, Tika slumped back into her chair, feeling as if a great weight had finally been lifted. “So that's it,” she said softly. Though the wine had calmed her nerves and warmed her limbs, her heart was heavy.

“Quite the tale, that,” Obsidian agreed and sat back in her chair as well.

“I thought Caramon had managed to stop once our boys were born...” Tika fiddled with the stem of her glass; green eyes downcast. “But now... now I discovered that he's just been hiding it from me. I saw the signs that he was slipping again. It was subtle at first,” she admitted, “but then I started finding the flasks and I knew it was a bigger problem than him sneaking the occasional sip here and there.” She sighed and released the glass, pushing it away from her.

“More and more I'd find the flasks empty, so I started paying attention to the stock behind the bar.” She waved a hand towards the great wooden bar that followed the curve of the room where Caramon often worked behind. “We were going through more ale and wine than I had suspected. It was easier to track when we were slow.”

Obsidian just nodded and listened, her dark eyes sympathetic as the other woman spoke.

Tika felt at ease with the dwarf, she was kind and didn't judge. Plus it helped that there was the family resemblance to the old dwarf that Tika remembered. Flint was gruff and dour, but he was wise and the same wisdom glittered in Obsidian's black eyes.

“I confronted Caramon not that long ago after a particularly difficult couple of nights,” Tika continued. “He promised then he'd stop drinking completely, promised that he'd leave his brother and his memories in the past.” Tika lowered her eyes to her lap where her hands had wrung her apron into a wrinkled mess. “I believed him, Obsidian. I believed he could finally let things go and move on. I really thought he was ready to change, but then you came along...”

“Tis an unfortunate line up of events ta be sure,” the dwarf agreed. She rubbed at her chin then ran her fingers over the braids along her jaw, making the metal beads clink. It was a habit she had developed when she was considering things. “We were planin' on stayin' til Spring Dawnin',” she said, referring to the Festival that celebrated the end of the War. It was nearly a month away yet and the weather was still unpredictable for traveling until that point in the year. Though warmer now, the area around Solace was still prone to sudden rain storms that blew in from the mountains and travelers were often waylaid and forced to hunker down in the mud. As a result of the unpredictable weather, most adventurers preferred to hunker down in a cozy inn.

“You don't have to leave,” Tika said and shook her head. “It was wrong of me to insist that you do so.”

“Nay, don't be worrin' about us, lass.” Obsidian waved the apology away. “We'll spend tha next few days getting' our supplies before we set out. Best we be on tha road before we get too soft fer our quest.” She smiled and patted her sword arm as she added, “Flint's axe ain't gonna be findin' itself and I've been itchin' ta cleave some goblin heads anyway.”

Tika's hands had returned above the table and were once again fiddling with the stem of her empty glass.

“You be needin' help finishing with shutting down?” the dwarf offered, her dark eyes sweeping over the tidy inn.

“No, I can manage,” Tika said. “I was nearly done anyway.”

“You stayin' here or home?”

Tika looked outside, it was well after darkwatch. “I can make it home,” she said. “Our house isn't far; I can see it from this tree. Besides, old Otik and his wife are kind to stay with the children but I shouldn't rely on them so much. But thank you for the offer all the same, Obsidian.” She gave the dwarf a small smile.

Obsidian patted her hand. “Alright,” she said gruffly and stood. “I'll talk ta me bunch an' make sure they be knowin' not ta push yer husband too much. Though, me thinks they're already suspectin'.”

Tika nodded and stood as well. “I know he'll keep drinking as long as you're here,” she said. “And that's fine,” she added quickly. “I don't want him to suspect that you are changing your habits just for him. So, please, don't make it obvious.”

“He get defensive, eh?”

Tika only offered a shrug in reply as the two finished turning over the last of the chairs. “I hate to set him off,” she confessed as they worked, her mind going to the times years ago when Caramon was drunk more than sober and even the smallest exchange of words ended with him either slamming a door in a rage or crumbling to the floor in a sobbing mess. His moods were unpredictable and some of the things that would come out of his mouth had alarmed Tika.

In times like that Tika really did believe that Caramon once shared a womb with Raistlin.

A small shudder ran up her spine at the thought of the black-robed wizard.

“He were almost set off tonight, me thinks,” Obsidian said as she took their glasses to the bar and set them with the others. By now she knew that there was a gully dwarf in residence that would come along eventually to 'clean' the dishes. “This brother o' his, forgive me fer askin' but,” she came to Tika's side and peered up into the taller woman's face, “Yer _sure_ he'd never be comin' back 'round here?”

“Gods, I hope not!” Tika gasped.

Obsidian eyed her a moment then let her dark gaze drift to the steps that led up to the rooms above. Making up her mind she reached out a hand and again placed it on Tika's forearm. “It's not what ye wanna hear,” she said softly and gave the human's arm a light squeeze, “but I can't help but sense that yer husband won't get ovr' his demons until he an' that brother o' his reconcile. His pain be deep, if I am understanin' yer tales well enough.”

Tika went to argue, a deep line of anger marred her brow but the dwarf held onto her arm tightly so she could not draw away.

“Yer husband loves ya and your wee ones,” Obsidian said sternly. “But I think he cannot be tha man he should be without dealin' with that twin o' his. Caramon Majere is bonded ta this wizard - soul deep, me thinks - whether you wish it or not. An' that bond will be breakin' him or it be makin' 'im stronger.” The dwarf's eyes were hard but her voice had grown soft. “Caramon needs his brother, needs ta be knowin' he's safe and needs ta be protectin' him. It may not have been healthy, if I be understandin' half as well as I think I do, but until the two o' them face eye ta eye and come ta terms, yer husband cannot be movin' on.”

“Raistlin is never coming back,” Tika said confidently. “He has no reason to.”

There was a twinkle in Obsidian's eyes that made the human pause.

“Aye,” the frawl said, “ye be tellin' yerself that, lass. But fer once, just consider,” she let go of Tika's arm and took a step back, “if yer husband be strugglin' so hard, then what of the other twin? What be his life right now wit this soul-bond they sharin'? Me thinks that nightmares be just tha tip o' the mountain.”

“I don't care, because Raistlin's _never_ coming back!” Tika repeated firmly, her green eyes flashing and warring with black.

Obsidian was the first to break their eye contact. She shrugged and began to make her way to the steps. Pausing at the bottom, the dwarf turned and gave her hostess a slight bow, her hand over her heart. “Goodnight, Tika Majere, think on those words.”

Tika watched the dwarf ascend the stairs, her heavy boots thumping on the wood in the same rhythm that brought Flint to mind. Once Obsidian was gone Tika lowered her head and realized that she was holding her apron in a white-knuckled grip. Slowly she pried her fingers off and smoothed the fabric with trembling hands.

“...he's never coming back,” Tika said one more time to the empty common room.

If she said it enough, she'd come to believe it herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/20/20: I really like Obsidian and her gang. Again they come from the D&D module 'Flint's Axe'.  
> Of course I've taken some liberties in fleshing them out more for the story but I do so love me a cantankerous dwarf! (also note that it is my personal head-canon that female dwarves have chin whiskers. Google images from the movie 'The Hobbit' to see pictures as well as conception art for the female dwarves! I think they look AMAZING with facial hair!)
> 
> Anyway, on a more serious note, time for an announcement...  
> I don't know if it's just the state of the world right now effecting my creativity or events in my own personal life at the moment, but I've been struggling with writing and am coming to the point I have fewer and fewer new chapters lined up and most of those need MASSIVE rewrites and edits. I spend more time doing editing than writing new content and it's just a matter of time before I have nothing lined up.
> 
> I had to do this for Part 1 and I dearly wish I didn't have to for Part 2, but I fear that I'm going to need (at least for a while) to post every other week. I hate to do it because I really feel like I lost a significant number of readers last time in Part 1. I also know that I have many more new readers now and you had the pleasure of reading through Part 1 unhindered. So to slow the story at this point is very difficult for me.
> 
> Again my appreciation that you're sticking with me is enormous, words can't express what your support means to me. So in return I want to be as transparent as possible during this journey because the last thing I want is to leave readers hanging.
> 
> So plan on the next chapter on 9/3/20 (Central standard time) I'll do my best to get chapters on track and new ones written as soon as possible!  
> NOTE: If you're a member here on Ao3 and you fear that you'll forget, please feel free to subscribe to the story, if your settings are right then you'll get e-mail reminders when chapters go up.
> 
> Thanks again *hugs*


	16. Know Thyself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for the incoming panic attack in this chapter. Also, sorry that this chapter is long (probably unnecessarily so). I've gone over it so often and edited it a billion times that I finally decided I had to just post it and be done with it. Also please take time to read note at the end ♥

“Nyx, have you seen Yurielle?” Raistlin asked the half-elven woman when he found her in the library.

Not even looking up from her book the red-robed woman shook her head. “No, Archmage, I haven't.”

Raistlin glowered but when she didn't acknowledge him further he turned his question to a small group of white robes in the corner. They too didn't know where Yurielle had gone. It had been five days since her fever broke and she had made no indication that she planned (or even wanted) to leave the Tower so her sudden disappearance not only vexed Raistlin, it also worried him.

Since declaring herself better, Yurielle had spent nearly all of her time by his side helping the Archmage sort through the vast array of tomes and items both in their bedroom as well as the study. Her skills in sensing the Lich's taint had become invaluable to the Raistlin and now that he found some new items he wanted her to check, only to discover her suddenly gone, had thrown every plan he had for the day out the window.

“Sisne and Jenna seemed to have disappeared as well,” one of the mages in front of him added.

Raistlin nodded absently, for he had noted the absence of the other women as well.

Just then Brishen and another black robe entered the library, each carrying a few books in their arms. Raistlin had seen that these two had been spending a great deal of time together as of late. He didn't care what his fellow mages did with one another in the Tower, but seeing people in the company with others suddenly made him even more irritable.

And jealous.

“You seemed troubled, Archmage,” the young man said as he returned the book he had been studying to the nearby shelf.

“Have you seen Yurielle, Jenna, or Sisne?” Raistlin asked in irritation. He had specifically laid down orders that he expected to be followed - one such order being that all mages going in and out of the Tower be logged and noted or at the very least cleared by one of the Heads. The fact that his own lover had so easily dismissed this order was testing his already taut nerves.

“No, I have not,” Brishen replied. “Are they missing?”

“He wouldn't ask if they weren't,” said the other black robe, one of only two females in the Tower from that Order. She turned to regard Raistlin. “They were asking around earlier if anyone else wanted to go with them into the city,” she said as she brushed some hair away from her overly large eyes.

“They didn't ask me,” Brishen said, taking the top book from the pile she carried and put that one away as well. “What makes you so special, Venilia?”

“Of _course_ they didn't ask _you_ ,” she sniffed haughtily. “You're a man,” she said in an airy voice many found unsettling. She was a strange one and often kept to herself; the fact she had been spending more time with someone more outgoing (as black robes went) like Brishen was raising more than one eyebrow in the Tower.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Raistlin snapped, his irritation growing. He wasn't in the best of moods, especially recently. He just wanted privacy as he worked through both his study and his mind.

And most of all he just wanted Yurielle next to him, for she was the only thing that calmed him and without her, it felt as though the cold knot in his chest was tightening by the moment.

“Oh, that's right!” Nyx spoke up now, their conversation having sparked a memory. “They talked about a 'girls day' out,” she said. “Clothes shopping, or some such _nonsense_ ,” she added with a shake of her head.

“Gods help me,” Raistlin grumbled under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Was it just the three of them?” he asked after pausing to take a calming breath.

“As far as I know,” Nyx shrugged. “I think they gave up when no one else showed interest.”

“They're an odd trio,” Venilia said softly, her unsettling gaze abstracted while she watched Brishen take the remainder of the books from her arms.

“Thank you for your time,” Raistlin said curtly. “Continue as you were,” he added needlessly, for everyone had already returned to their studies, Raistlin's plight of missing lover forgotten in their minds.

With that, the Archmage left the library and ascended the spiral of stairs back to his study. Closing the door, he scowled at the disarray that faced him. He was irritated that Yurielle had left without telling him and part of him worried that something may happen to her while away from the Tower. The sudden feeling of panic that swept over him caused the Archmage to cross the room towards the teleportation circle under the window.

He'd find her. He'd teleport into the city and use location spells then bring her home where she was safe! She'd stay by his side and help him; she'd smile for him and most importantly, calm him.

Stopping halfway across the room Raistlin forced himself to think rationally. It took far longer than he would have liked to calm himself and by the time he managed it his palms were sweaty and his head hurt.

Logically Raistlin knew that Yurielle was perfectly safe with Jenna and Sisne. The other women had their own talents in the Art, particularly the red-robed lover of Dalamar. Jenna was an agile mage, quick and cunning, and the woman had a firm grasp of her magic and her power was enhanced by the many magical items she dealt with in her shop and often kept the most interesting for herself. Sisne, by contrast, was the weakest of the three no doubt, but what the small woman lacked in power she made up for with tenacity and cleverness.

Yurielle was not helpless, she could defend herself against any common street thug, of that Raistlin was certain. And she was growing stronger with using her wild magic.

In the rare moments she wasn't at his side, Raistlin would often walk in on her practicing. She had regained most of her former cantrips, having been able to figure out how to cast them using wild magic. But there were a few she had lost and could not figure out how to duplicate them.

His eyes fell on her new spellbook laying on the side table next to the sofa. A bright blue tome with a single star of silver set upon the front, she had been filling it with her findings and theories of how this other magic worked. She would often sit and chatter at him about her theories if just to try to get her thoughts into some semblance of order for others to understand. She was eager to grasp her magic and teach others.

Now that Raistlin considered it, Yurielle seemed as restless as he was, but for different reasons. She seemed almost... pulled from him in ways he found disconcerting. Their magics were no longer the same; that link and commonality between them severed when the gods took their blessings from her.

And Raistlin had been too busy with his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed.

He sighed then and gently took her spellbook into his hands. The magic, _her_ magic, felt different to his touch as he traced the star upon the front with a golden fingertip. The wild magic, known as Primal Sorcery to history, was strange and foreign but it tingled against his skin pleasantly. This was fascinating to Raistlin because this same magic repelled most other wizards like him, other users of what was called High Sorcery, the magic given by the gods of the arcane. Why he was different in this, Raistlin could only speculate and right now he was weary of questioning.

The Archmage put Yurielle's book back where he found it, he just wanted to finish his task at hand and reluctantly accepted he'd have to do it alone. Yurielle was capable and he just had to trust she could take care of herself if need arose. She didn't need him hovering over her.

Yet the thought of not being able to protect her – like when she and Dalamar had gone out together – twisted Raistlin's insides into a jumbled mess. He took one more involuntary step towards the teleportation circle before stopping.

Again he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying in vain to reel in his wayward emotions that instantly ran out of his control. His thoughts were nothing but an annoying jumble these last few days, making him short on temper and brimming with anxiety. Raistlin ran his hands through his hair, torn with indecision – which was not like him at all!

_Who are you?_

The question seemed to echo around him and Raistlin whirled to look at his desk, half expecting to see someone standing there. The voice had sounded like his, like that inner one that always questioned, always doubted.

It was so loud as of late...

He scowled and shook his head, angered that he was letting himself slip like this. There was nothing to worry about - not really - and he knew this. There was no indication that Fistandantilus or his followers were on the move... But Raistlin could not settle down for even a moment lest his fears pull him under.

“I just need to keep busy,” he muttered to himself and with another shake of his head, he went to sit at his desk. As he settled into the large chair and attempted to get comfortable, his mind wandered over the events of the last few days.

Life had begun to take on some semblance of normalcy within the Tower at Palanthas. Dalamar had returned for a short while, bringing both news and more mages. Raistlin had also assisted the Heads of the Orders in altering the shield spell around the Tower to allow communications through. He considered for a brief moment to send Yurielle a message but quickly dismissed it.

He had to trust her...

He could do this alone.

Besides altering the shield, yesterday the three new Heads of this Tower, overseen by Raistlin, set up a complex teleportation ring on one of the more restricted levels. The ring was one where only a select trusted few could teleport to. Any passengers were blindfolded so they would be unable to memorize the runes needed to teleport there themselves, and the room was magically locked to keep out those not allowed entry.

The councils of each tower had met briefly as well, laying down rules and agreeing upon terms that protected both towers and the members residing in each. Because of the new teleportation ring, travel between Wayreth and Palanthas would happen more frequently. Any who refused to follow the rules were barred from entering either tower.

Until both towers were certain that no spies were lingering amongst their ranks, no exceptions were made. To many these measures seemed extreme, dogmatic, and overreaching. But to ensure the survival of the magehood as a whole, sacrifices had to be made and measures taken.

Because of these rules and measures, Raistlin was certain that magehood would recover, albeit slowly, after the attack by the undead led by the renegade mages gone to Fistandantilus' side. But the loss of life and betrayal by so many wizards was a hard hit to morale, say nothing of the suspicions that ran rampant now - many of which were aimed at him.

There were still many who did not trust Raistlin, even after all he had done.

“So be it,” he muttered to himself as he stared at the stack of books piled on his desk - all of them with dark blue bindings. The Archmage would rather lay down heavy-handed rules and restrict access to each tower than allow another spy or agent of Fistandantilus back inside while those within healed and regrouped.

The enemy could be anywhere, within any shadow or around any corner.

_Or even in oneself..._

He growled in frustration and stood up again, unable to stay seated for even a moment as his fears whispered to him, for he felt as if the pile of books would topple over and crush him at any second. Flicking his hand, Raistlin lit several orbs with a simple cantrip to fill the room with more light even though full sunlight was streaming in through the windows.

It felt far too dark in here without Yurielle.

“Where did you go?” he asked, his eyes on a blanket that she had left draped over the back of the sofa near the hearth. He went to it and ran his fingers over the soft fabric, imagining as he did that it was still warm from her body heat. After a moment he looked around, again determined to be productive until she got back.

But it seemed such a daunting task to do alone...

During the last few days, Raistlin kept as busy as possible in a vain attempt to ignore the growing unease within him and the suffocating weight that threatened to crush him if he rested or let his guard down. He knew these feelings were not because he worried that Fistandantilus would move against the towers so soon. These feelings were because _he_ had too many questions, too many doubts about himself and his path now without the Archlich.

The increasing uncertainty of his own identity was reflected back to Raistlin every time he picked up an item belonging to Fistandantilus, adding to the feelings and tightening the band of panic in his chest. At one time the items had been familiar to him; once they had brought pride and comfort, the spellbooks a sense of power and confidence, the magical artifacts were wondrous and exciting.

Now they brought loathing, questions, and a smothering sense of worthlessness, of _unworthiness_...

It was only now with his attention focused on Yurielle's absence did the Archmage finally see how obsessed he had become in his quest to rid himself of the Archlich's presence. He had become so convinced that if everything was removed then he'd feel better and could focus.

But now as he stood here Raistlin also realized that the past days had done nothing except expose that he had very little to show for the years he had spent here in his Tower. Yes, he had learned much during that time, but nearly all of it was knowledge obtained from studying Fistandantilus' knowledge. Yes, he had grown vastly in power, but again it was all due to the Archlich and that power was enhanced by the connection they had once shared.

Now that was gone.

Raistlin was alone.

_Who is Raistlin?_

He looked around at the piles of dark blue books and for a moment felt as though they were conspiring to fly across the room and attack him, so vicious did they seem to him. “I just need to rest,” he told himself, edging away from the spellbooks to the other end of the room. Unconsciously he had kept hold of Yurielle's blanket in his fingers. When he realized it was still in his white-knuckled grip he was nearly to the bedroom door.

He sighed and breathed in her scent off the blanket, again trying to calm himself with thoughts of her. Yurielle had worked beside him obediently and offered her help willingly these past days. But as Raistlin thought of it, he recalled the growing concern for him in her beautiful, indigo eyes.

She was worried about him.

But Raistlin had ignored her.

Since she no longer needed his constant tending to, Raistlin had grown more and more withdrawn these past days. If Yurielle tried to ask him questions, be it anything from how he felt to what he was thinking, Raistlin circumvented her concern and brushed everything off as a result of his new duties as Highmage. He worked from sunup to well past midnight, often falling asleep at his desk or finally collapsing in bed beside her. She'd whisper a sleepy hello and accept him into her arms where he'd bury his face in her hair and fall into a deep, restless slumber.

Raistlin stood in the middle of his study and though it was crammed with piles of books and magical items, it felt hollow without Yurielle. Letting the blanket fall from his fingers to the floor, Raistlin knew that Yurielle's absence allowed all the things that he was attempting to shut away the opening they needed to claw their way out. With an irritated sigh, he walked over to the bedroom and eyed the shelves from just inside the doorway.

Most of the shelves in here were empty.

Anything tainted by Fistandantilus had been moved out and replaced by Raistlin or Yurielle's books and personal items. But their things pitifully filled the giant gasps left behind and Raistlin's brow furrowed at the complete lack of his own accomplishments, of the knowledge he could claim to be _his_.

Entering the bedchamber he physically felt a change in his body and breathed a sigh of relief, for he felt much lighter as soon as he crossed the threshold. Most, but not all, of the tightness in his chest loosened. With a satisfied nod to himself, Raistlin knew that they had succeeded in completely ridding this room of the Lich's possessions.

Raistlin wanted to finish and move everything from the study and soon, for he didn't know how much longer he could deal with the smothering presence of Fistandantilus near him. The new shelves had been delivered last night and stood waiting up in the laboratory.

“Damn it, Yurielle!” he growled to himself. “Of all the times you decide to do this to me...!”

Turning around again, Raistlin returned to the study and was forced to stop as the oppressive weight constricted around his insides again, squeezing and making him sluggish. He bent down and picked up Yurielle's discarded blanket and flung it around his shoulders.

 _'Do you feel its warmth?'_ Yurielle had once asked him of his skin.

 _'No,'_ he had replied coarsely. ' _I'm nearly always cold.'_

Their voices floated around Raistlin, making him dizzy.

He was so cold right now...

Raistlin pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and took a few slow breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heart. It did no good and unconsciously his feet brought him back to the bedchamber so that he could feel better. Finding himself near the fireplace he eyed the items that Yurielle had brought in this room to refill the empty spaces. He needed to try to focus his mind on something other than Fistandantilus and this growing panic inside him.

The dragon orb glittered dormant in its usual place upon the mantel and next to it was Yurielle's favorite selection of crystals. Quartz, citrine, and several geodes of glittering amethyst stared back at him. Then, at the end of the row, he saw that she had brought in that stupid wooden rabbit with the brown eyes.

Yurielle had never asked him why he had it after she had first discovered it all those weeks ago when they had stood here in awkward conversation before they had become lovers. Truth be told Raistlin himself had no idea why he had bought the trinket when he discovered a street urchin selling it with claims it possessed magic. It had obviously been a false claim, but the magic it held for Raistlin had not been the arcane kind, for he had recognized the work of Flint Fireforge from across the street. Sure enough, the old dwarf's initials were carved on the bottom and Raistlin had far overpaid the dirty thief before threatening immolation for his trade of selling stolen goods.

Now, here the item sat and all it did was bring memories of days long past and stare at him with his twin's innocent, infuriating gaze.

Reaching up, Raistlin took the rabbit in his fingers and for a heartbeat made as if he would toss it into the lazy flames within the fireplace.

But he couldn't do it.

His fingers refused to let go.

Frowning, Raistlin looked at the small toy clenched in his hand. Slowly he made a conscious effort to open his fingers and the rabbit rolled into his palm, its little beady eyes locking with his.

Carved expertly from a rare type of white aspen, the small object stirred _things_ inside the Archmage as he stared into the small, hazel-brown eyes. Raistlin held his breath, waiting for memories to come flooding back and for the emotions he knew he _should_ be feeling. He was certain they were there, just under the surface or ready to be remembered if he just tried _hard_ enough!

But... there was nothing.

Nothing except the growing unease he had inside when his thoughts turned to his brother. More and more Raistlin found himself thinking of Caramon and more and more he realized that something felt... _wrong_.

These past nights if Raistlin dreamed, he dreamed of vallenwood trees, of Otik's Spiced Potatoes, of a rusted, broken sword. In one dream he had managed to pick up the sword only to find that the cause of the rust was blood that had never been cleaned from the blade. He had looked down to find that blood poured from his heart just as blood-red water rushed around his ankles and crashed over his head, pulling him down and separating him from the others.

_What others?_

The band inside his chest tightened further, squeezing painfully and screaming at him to acknowledge it and deal with it. Raistlin gasped at it, his other hand going over his heart as it fluttered inside him, angry and terrified.

 _'Where is that twin of yours, baby brother?'_ the voice of his half-sister Kitiara echoed to him from some past memory as his hand touched over his heart.

Raistlin froze and held his breath, eyes wide, as he listened for his reply.

There was none.

 _'Separated huh?'_ Kitiara had said with a laugh and Raistlin could clearly remember the half-smirk of her lips and the way she used to toss her dark curls away from her face. ' _Well, I'm sure he's around here somewhere. He'd never leave you far behind. Come on, dry your eyes and pull yourself together!'_ she had sighed in irritation. His sister never did have time for sentimental dribble. _'Let's go find him...'_ Kitiara reached down and offered her hand to him and Raistlin reached up to take it but before their fingers touched, she vanished.

Raistlin stood there in front of the fireplace, the white rabbit in his one palm while the other reached out in front of him at empty air.

He snatched his hand back and blinked, shaking his head. Raistlin stared at the rabbit for several more moments, waiting for something else to happen, but nothing did. He could not remember when that memory had taken place or why he had found himself without Caramon nor why their half-sister had come to his aid.

Scowling, Raistlin placed the rabbit back on the mantel and turned it away from him so that the eyes stared at the stone wall while he simultaneously shoved thoughts of his twin, of his past, from his mind.

Thinking of Caramon was the last thing he needed or wanted to do right now!

Going to the window, Raistlin looked out to find that it was still late morning and he had no idea when Yurielle would return. Feeling too anxious about the fact he had no idea where she was and if she was alright, the Archmage decided to give up on any further attempts of sorting and moving the items by himself. It was too burdensome of a job to do alone, not when he felt like this – with his mind in a jumble and running away from him.

He needed Yurielle's help.

He needed Yurielle for so much.

_You're too reliant on others..._ That voice of doubt within him that had been nagging at his heels since Skullcap, whispered. It was his voice, yet it was not. With growing certainty, Raistlin was beginning to suspect it was the voice of the man he was from before his Test. But he did not know that voice, did not know that man, so it seemed almost like a stranger to him when it whispered.

Sighing heavily, Raistlin began to make some herbal tea, his thoughts turning from the whispers - from his brother - to his beloved while guilt regarding both twisted in his gut. Yurielle had selflessly helped him these last days and he had all but completely ignored her. That small whisper had often voiced that he used her for his own ends - like he did everyone else - but like always he tried to ignore it or squashed it down.

Yurielle loved him, and he, her. She helped him because of her love and loyalty to him and so he did not need to manipulate her to do anything for him. He had, however, seemed to have developed an unhealthy dependency on her. Raistlin's brow furrowed at this thought.

Was _love_ a dependency? Was his need to get lost in her presence an unhealthy thing?

He thought back to the days they had spent together at Wayreth when he was so sure of his path with her. Then, he had thought about possible futures with her - growing old and the possibility of children, of spending their days learning magic and traveling the world to see its wonders. Though these things were still what his heart desired (more or less) Raistlin found that somehow he wanted more.

In the days before Skullcap, he had mused about building their own life together, just the two of them, away from the world. Raistlin, then and now, (especially now!) wanted only a quiet life of simple pleasures with Yurielle. He wanted to continue to grow in his magic and watch her grow in hers. He wanted a home, the kind he had never experienced growing up, and if that meant a family then he would honestly consider it if it made Yurielle happy. However, his conclusion then had been that he wouldn't be able to horde her all to himself and he still knew that such a thing would be impossible.

But now that it _was_ only _himself_ , Raistlin found his lone, internal existence unbearable without someone close beside him. He found that being separated from her, if even for a few hours, was unbearable because it left him alone with all the things he wanted so desperately to ignore.

Raistlin wanted now, more than ever, to just steal Yurielle away and turn his back on all this - the Tower, the magehood, Fistandantilus – everything. Let the world solve its own problems, let the magic sort itself out.

Hadn't he endured enough? Wasn't he entitled to rest and live happily now?

No, Raistlin knew he couldn't do these things. His god had come to him and personally warned him of the dangers posed to the world of magic. Fistandantilus was out there, planning and scheming and whatever the Archlich had in mind for Krynn, Raistlin knew it was not going to be good.

Raistlin no longer wanted godhood but Fistandantilus did not harbor such reservations on the matter. He'd do everything and all in his power to ascend.

The road ahead was dark and uncertain and Raistlin wasn't sure that even Yurielle's love could light his way. Especially now in times like this, when all that he was so certain of had bent back upon itself, all his conclusions and beliefs unraveled before his very eyes.

Raistlin knew he wanted more from his life than what stretched on before him.

_But what more is there?_

On top of the nagging voice of his younger self, there was still that part of him, that ugly, twisted part that _still_ questioned everything. It was his inner voice that he knew all too well: _You don't deserve more._ _What you have is enough and you should be grateful for it!_

Raistlin knew he was right in this; he had many things now with Yurielle and had gained even more since returning from Skullcap. He had love for one, true love (or so he supposed) and it was something he never thought he'd receive from anyone. Raistlin had his freedom now, as daunting as such a prospect all of a sudden seemed. And he also has his health, as poor as it was at the best of times it was still far better than before meeting Yurielle. Raistlin, though still not robust, could get through the day now without repeated bouts of coughing or needing to stop to rest and catch his breath. He could work for hours without feeling fatigued and his lungs didn't bother him until something irritated them such as too much dust or some strong odor or perfume or if he happened to exert himself too much, which was rare. And last but certainly not least, he had the respect (if not total trust) of the remnants of the magehood and his Tower was filling with like-minded individuals that were accepting of him.

These things were inconceivable a mere six months ago before he went to the Library that one ordinary day that then ended with extraordinary results.

“Why can't I just accept what I have and be happy?” Raistlin asked gloomily as he waited for the water to boil. “You taught me to be human, to accept and feel emotions,” he said as he ran his fingers along the edge of the blanket still around his shoulders. “But yet look how I fight it - this humanity you've given me, this heart you've awakened inside...”

Raistlin didn't understand how Yurielle accepted things so easily and he found himself envious of her ability. Her brain was an enigma to him, even after all these weeks, and at the very least he just had to accept that they were indeed like night and day. He shook his head, knowing that he could never think as Yurielle did, could never just accept things and move on. He'll always gnaw at everything like a dog with a bone. Every doubt and shortcoming of his, Raistlin knew he'd fight with these tendencies no matter how much Yurielle loved him.

_Then why do you need her so much?_

Again the question floated around him and Raistlin pushed the thoughts aside, shut them away with all of the other questions. He was too weary right now to think about them, to acknowledge them. He had known before removing Fistandantilus that life would be different and difficult, but the Archmage could never have foreseen _this_. Raistlin could never have known how empty he'd feel, how worthless and alone.

He could never have foreseen himself having dreams of his twin, of somewhere deep inside, be _worried_ about Caramon. Raistlin could never have seen how he'd come to try and grasp onto and hold Yurielle to himself so possessively that for her to be gone mere hours left him teetering on the brink of a panic attack. His internal strength was weak indeed if he was so easily thrown into such inner turmoil such as this.

Instead of dwelling on these inner storms, Raistlin tried, futility, to think of something... nice.

Perhaps tonight he and Yurielle would take a break from the sorting and stay away from the dark items that made him so on edge. He'd apologize to her, Raistlin decided, and spend time with her. The Archmage had seen not only concern for him in her eyes but also recognized that Yurielle herself was struggling with her own inner conflict.

Perhaps that was why she had left today? Was that why she needed a 'girls day out'?

Once it was ready, Raistlin sipped his tea and promised himself he'd make it up to her. His eyes darted to the bed and he couldn't suppress the warm tingle that ran through his blood, the first good feeling he could recall these past few days.

Yes, he'd make it up to her. A night together would be a wonderful distraction.

With that thought on his mind, Raistlin sat down at the small writing desk in the corner and eyed the room as he sipped his tea, ignoring the fact that the sunlight was landing right on the edge of the mantel, making that white rabbit shine.

Yurielle was the only light he needed...

Though the bedroom was much emptier than it had been just days ago, Raistlin felt almost peaceful here. If it weren't for the torrent of his emotions, he'd be able to relax.

As he slowly drank his tea Raistlin asked himself aloud, “How many sleepless nights have I spent here studying the dark words and theories of Fistandantilus? How many nightmares did I endure as a result of the things I learned, of the experiments I tried?”

Years wasted in dark study, fueled by evil ambition that was not so much his own as it was the original owner of the spellbooks he read from and the creator of the dark spells he learned. Raistlin Majere wanted nothing to do with the dark path that almost led him towards achieving godhood.

Raistlin had seen the outcome of such a quest; he had witnessed what kind of god he and Fistandantilus together would become and what they would have done with existence. Takhisis had shown Yurielle this alternate timeline and he had taken the visions from her mind and viewed them all himself. These things were confirmed to him from other sources, his patron god included.

He'd do anything to avoid that fate.

That man in those visions seemed like a stranger to Raistlin, same as the man he was before he had met Yurielle and, if he'd be honest with himself, same as the man he was right now. He had _changed_ , that much was clear and Raistlin had quickly realized after coming home from Skullcap that he didn't really know who he was supposed to be anymore.

A decade had passed since the beginning of being in the Lich's shadow, since sharing his body and his mind with Fistandantilus' essence. How many nights during those years had he sat here studying, growing in power, and unaware that it wasn't all because of his own designs?

How could he have let his life fall so far out of his control?

 _Power_. The word floated in the back of Raistlin's mind.

He had wanted power and he was once willing to do _anything_ for it.

Once again Raistlin attempted to remember, truly remember, his life before his Test. What made him happy besides the magic? Did he smile? Laugh?

Raistlin shook his head. He could not, for the life of him, even recall! He tried to think of times when he wasn't bitter or resentful, tried to recall any moment of peace or clarity that he perhaps had shared with Caramon. His eyes darted to the white rabbit now facing away from him on the mantel, the sun had moved, leaving it darkened.

Was he ever happy with his twin?

Raistlin couldn't say, for just thinking about his brother made him angry. Everything that Caramon ever did, every word that fell out of his mouth, every pitying gaze, made the Archmage _furious_!

This anger brought on memories of overhearing his twin's many trysts in the still of night during their late adolescent years and beyond. More than once Raistlin had come home later than he had intended from visiting the town herbalist Weird Meggin, only to find the door to the house shut and the sound of moans and sighs drifting out to him from the cracked windows. He recalled feeling both shamefully intrigued and sickeningly jealous of his brother.

Most times Raistlin would flee, find another tree to sit in and read until the door to the house would open and some foolish girl would leave, giggling as she ran before someone caught her. Once she would slip away Raistlin would go inside to face his twin. But the words of scathing anger would die on his tongue when Caramon would happily welcome him home, his genial face oblivious to the wounds he had opened inside the lonely Raistlin.

Why couldn't Caramon see, just once, that Raistlin was upset?

But like the white rabbit on the mantel, Caramon would turn away and be none the wiser, he had gotten what he had wanted – who cared about anything else? Life for the big man was good and the young mage would stand there and seethe in his jealousy and resentment for all the things his twin had that he didn't.

Raistlin would use these feelings, and more, as a bitter shield against others. All too soon that shield became his persona and that was the Raistlin the world around him had come to accept. It had gone on for so long that he had accepted it as well.

But was that _really_ him?

The Archmage took another sip of tea and realized that his hand was shaking.

Carefully he set the mug down and pressed his palms to the surface of the desk.

Why was it so easy for him to let his thoughts spin out of his grasp?! Why did his mind insist on being filled with dark thoughts?

Slowly Raistlin took long, careful breaths in an attempt to ward off the panic attack he felt bubbling up in him as the band in his chest tightened and tightened.

His control over his emotions was slipping...

That bitter young man he remembered, the one who was jealous of his twin and thought he'd be alone all his days, had been wrong. Raistlin tried to tell himself that he had Yurielle now, mentally it was all so clear and obvious. He _loved_ Yurielle, and she, him. What they shared was a deeper thing than any his twin could boast of.

Raistlin told himself this, but it did nothing to shut down the rush of old feelings.

 **Loneliness**...

Looking around the bedroom, he was alone right now. Yurielle had seemingly abandoned him. She had run off and left him by himself to succumb to his inner turmoil.

 **Anger**...

Anger boiled beneath the cold knot in his chest; anger that he had allowed so much of his life to be taken from him. Anger that still, after all these years, he was resentful that he had been left behind.

 **Sorrow**...

The bittersweet truth of the matter was for Raistlin that the only memory of his past self was just a shell of a human. And what hurt worse was that he was _still_ just a shell!

_Who are you?_

“Petty, resentful, ambitious and sly – _that_ is Raistlin Majere,” he said aloud to the whispered question in the back of his mind that buzzed and clamored with doubts and dreads.

Was he doomed to continue in the same way now that he had his life back?

_Apparently so._

Why was so much of his past nothing but remembered pain? Was that really all there was left of who he once was?

“There had to have been good times!” Raistlin clutched at his head. “Where did they go?!” His hands fisted at his hair tightly as he searched his mind for any hint of joy from bygone days.

But, try as he might, none of them came to Raistlin Majere.

 **Panic**...

Raistlin felt the waves of panic crash down around him. His life was falling apart, nothing of the past many years was _his_ before Yurielle came. She gave him his heart back, his humanity, and faced down that vile part of his soul and asked for nothing in return. He wasn't worthy of such loyalty, of such love.

Not after all the things he had done to his own twin..!

And now, she too was gone.

In his mind, without Yurielle, Raistlin was just an empty husk with no emotions, no magic, and no future. Any happy times in his childhood were lost, stolen away by the very Lich he had allowed to latch onto him to gain the _power_ he had so desperately craved - what he still craved. Raistlin allowed Fistandantilus to enter him, to taint him and to alter him and this wretched thing falling apart in his bedroom was the result.

Raistlin had no life of his own. He was just a splintered piece of a soul. And as such, he couldn't do anything for himself...

He saw now that it was _his_ fault he had become the man that he was. He was the one to put up the shield to keep others away; _he_ was the one to wear the persona so convincingly that he had come to believe it himself.

Raistlin couldn't blame Caramon. He couldn't even blame Fistandantilus!

“I'm like this because _I_ allowed it!” he said in horror.

And the worst part of it was that it had gone on for so long that Raistlin knew of no other way to exist. Sure there were fleeting glimpses of happiness in recent weeks with Yurielle but when weighed on the scales against what little he recalled of his life, it was pitiful indeed.

_Just a splintered piece..._

Raistlin's breathing grew erratic as his eyes fell upon a small book next to him, tucked into the corner of the desk. Instantly he knew it was Yurielle's journal and without even thinking twice about it he pulled it out and opened it.

Row upon row of her strange writing greeted his cursed gaze as he flipped through the pages. Years of entries had filled most of them but Raistlin could make out nothing of her scrawlings. However, here and there she had doodled a little drawing amongst her strange written language.

As he focused on her studies of bugs and flower petals, Raistlin felt the tightening of uncertainty and anxiety lessen, his breathing calmed. His eyes left the pages and searched the rest of the desk for her leather case in hopes to find distraction in the glimpses of how she viewed the world.

He ignored the voice in his head telling him that even now, he was nothing. He was nothing because he needed someone _else_ to make him feel better.

“Yes,” he said aloud, his voice thin and strained as his search scattered papers and books onto the floor, “I need Yurielle!”

_You're only using her to ignore what you fear most..._

Not seeing her drawings among the books, papers, and scrolls on the desk, Raistlin shoved everything aside with a growl and got up to explore her side of the bed, ignoring the nagging voice.

There!

Tucked between the end table and bed, rested her most recent drawing book. Quickly Raistlin went for it, nearly tripping over his robes and the blanket that fell from his shoulders in his haste.

Under normal circumstances, Raistlin would never feel the need to pry through Yurielle's personal items. He respected her privacy too much and honored her need for things that were her own.

But this was not a normal circumstance and already he could feel the room spin as his emotions continued to spiral.

Raistlin just needed to view the world through normal eyes, through eyes that saw purpose and beauty in all things. Yurielle drew flowers and nightmares; she captured spiders on paper with the same respect as she did butterflies. And Raistlin needed to understand Yurielle's way of thinking. He needed to understand why she just accepted things that he continued to question and attempt to find fault in...

The world was normal for Yurielle and Raistlin desperately wanted to be normal _with_ her.

He wanted to ignore his doubts, his fears, and the voices that whispered them to him incessantly. He wanted to see the world as she did, he wanted to come to understand how such little mundane things could bring a person joy and peace and happiness.

Raistlin wanted his life back, his past, and his memories. He needed them to understand who he was and most of all, he needed Yurielle to help him find who he was supposed to be now...

But she was not here.

“I'll go get her,” he said to the empty room as he held her book in his hands, his eyes roaming the vacant space, “it'd be so easy.”

_But she deserves time away with her friends, doesn't she? You said you'd never horde her, never force her to do anything... didn't you?_

Unlike Raistlin, Yurielle was a social creature and enjoyed time spent with others. So indeed, Raistlin knew that he owed her this one afternoon. He could spend a few hours without her - just the same as he once had before they'd met. All he needed to do was calm himself and get his thoughts and emotions back in order... he just needed to ground himself.

But it was hard with that nagging voice of doubt hounding him. _Why do you need her so much? Why did you need anyone? You've used them to ignore the truth!_

As Raistlin flipped through Yurielle's drawings and ignored the questions, it suddenly clicked in his awareness: He was willing to allow Yurielle her own separate existence, even though it was sometimes hard for him to do so.

But one thing was vividly clear about his past: He had not done the same with his very own twin.

Raistlin knew he didn't need his brother for survival, but he had felt no shame in making sure that it was not so for his twin. Caramon could not exist without being able to take care of his weaker, frail twin.

And Raistlin had taken full advantage of this time and again... He used his brother and made him dance for him like a puppet on strings. Seeing Caramon's loyalty, his obedience, brought Raistlin pleasure and in that pleasure, he knew that he had some control over his life, that he held _power_ over another.

Was he doing the same thing to Yurielle?

That coil of guilt tightened back up in Raistlin's chest. He attempted to take another slow breath as he willed the feeling to go away while his eyes returned to her drawings.

“No,” he told himself again. “Yurielle loves me. And I love her!”

_But love keeps people together, doesn't it?_

“Yes!” Raistlin growled back. “It's stronger than anything else; it altered the course of my life and destiny!”

 _Your twin loved you..._ that inner voice that was fraying Raistlin's nerves whispered. _You can deny it, but deep down you know he'd do anything for you. And you used him and cast him aside... She'll be next._

As if by coincidence Raistlin found that the drawing of Yurielle's dead twin was staring up at him. The Archmage frowned and flipped through the pages and again the universe mocked him as they fluttered to a stop on one of her newest drawings, that of Ariallah as Yurielle saw her after Fistandantilus had pulled her soul from the other side.

Her twin's eyes were large and full of fear; so very like Yurielle's, but somehow different due to what she had seen and experienced. Her death and existing in limbo on the other side of the weave had left its mark on the woman's soul and it was captured perfectly in charcoal and pencil in Yurielle's rendition. The other woman's face was identical to his beloved, save for the dark veins webbing across her skin and the black ends of her hair.

Next to the picture, Yurielle had scribbled a message and to Raistlin's surprise, it was not in her secret language. Written in her gentle looping handwriting were the words: _“I'm sorry, sister. Please, forgive me...”_

Raistlin ran the tips of his fingers over the words and noted that the paper was puckered in places where Yurielle's tears had fallen and dried, wrinkling the surface.

_See?_ his younger self whispered,  _Love doesn't keep people together..._

The coil of guilt within Raistlin tightened further, threatening to suffocate him as the world teetered around him. Yurielle had chosen him over her sister! Him, this weak, pathetic shell... did she truly regret it?

For a moment Raistlin couldn't breathe, couldn't think!

Knowing he was losing this battle, Raistlin closed the leather case and hastily tied it shut once more with shaking hands. Returning it where he found it, the Archmage found himself sinking to the surface of the bed in the spot that Yurielle usually occupied, unable to keep himself upright any more as the world spun around him.

As he fought control over his breathing, Raistlin caught the scent of Yurielle on her pillow. Hugging it to his face, he wasn't surprised when a small sob escaped his tight throat as he tried in vain to breathe.

 _Breathe,_ she had told him once. _Just breathe with me._

Gods, he was trying!

Raistlin hated this, hated feeling vulnerable and uncertain, hated the times when panic won over his iron-hard reason. He felt raw and exposed, naked to his emotions that were quickly reeling out of his control again.

He didn't know why he was feeling this way, why his mood had spiraled downward these past few days. He hid it from Yurielle as best he could, but Raistlin knew she was suspecting that something was bothering him. But bless her kind heart, she wasn't about to pry at him to talk about it.

So Raistlin didn't say anything, he didn't voice his fears or his worries.

Or his doubts.

He didn't tell her about his missing memories, didn't tell her of the nagging feeling something was wrong with Caramon. He didn't tell her that he feared he couldn't exist without her tied to him at all times. He needed someone, _anyone_ , beside him.

Without Caramon, without Yurielle, without even Fistandantilus, this was probably the very first time that Raistlin Majere found himself alone.

Alone with only himself.

_You couldn't tell her that you're just a pathetic, quivering wreck, lost in uncertainty. You don't know_ how _to be alone, so you use others..._

Raistlin's guilt twisted inside him, pushing him farther over the edge.

The voice was right. His younger self knew who he really was!

Yurielle was worried about him and he refused to open up to her. She was struggling with her own issues and Raistlin refused to offer his help. So consumed by his own problems, Yurielle had taken a lesser important spot in Raistlin's life all of a sudden – and it was eating away at him.

Yurielle was his world and yet Raistlin found he had no strength to deal with her loss as well.

_Behold who you've become..!_

It was then that Raistlin saw how selfish he truly was.

And this realization was the only thing he had to cling to right now.

He was right! Raistlin Majere was selfish and he was bitter. He was lost - a pathetic wretch - and for the life of him, Raistlin didn't know how to fix it.

Or even if he wanted to...

He was just a splintered soul, resenting what he could not change and unwilling to ask for help. These realizations sent the Archmage's emotions spiraling further out of his control, caused him to start hyperventilating. He thought he had changed, he had thought Yurielle's love had shown him all this and that he had dealt with it.

But no, it will always be there.

_No amount of light would ever fix this,_ his inner voice told him.

This was then followed by that younger voice, that version of himself Raistlin didn't know,  _You will never remember who you were, for that man is dead._ **I'm** _dead,_ he hissed, _and_ **you** _let me die when you agreed to bind yourself to that tainted part of us that I worked eons to escape from!_

“This isn't my fault,” Raistlin moaned and curled into a ball. “I had no choice! I was alone, afraid!”

_You wanted power..._

“Yes, you miserable whelp,” he growled into Yurielle's pillow, “and so did **you**!”

When those inner voices of his refused to answer, Raistlin started laughing. Harsh, hysterical laughter bubbled out of him, threatening to make him start coughing again.

“I'm going insane!” he cried to the empty room as he clutched Yurielle's pillow to his face. It took many moments of panic-stricken laughter and hot tears before he started to calm.

“Look what you've done to me...” he rasped. But his words were not aimed at himself, nor at the ghost of Yurielle's presence around him, but at that dark half of his soul that he had once accepted into his body.

_All of this is because_ **he** _is gone..._

Raistlin felt as though Fistandantilus had taken everything inside of him and shook them up, bashed them around and bruised his small soul against an ice-cold wall. Then the Lich had scorched everything into a worthless pile of ash as he was torn out.

Memories had been taken, plans and ambitions altered... and a sense of self ruined.

“ _Now you see, Raistlin Majere,”_ Nuitari had whispered into his mind not so many nights ago. _“You have much work to do; both outward and inward. In order to be our instrument, you must face your hardest Test yet.”_

“Knowing yourself...” Raistlin whispered brokenly, answering the question he had asked of his god – of what such a Test would be.

But to come to know himself as anything other than what he was now, Raistlin was at a loss as to where to begin, for there seemed like nothing else was possible gripped as he was in self-loathing, doubt, and fear.

Unlike that man he was from ten years ago, Raistlin now knew love. But that too, it seemed, paled to the void and turmoil left behind by Fistandantilus' absence; of the things he had altered inside Raistlin, had stolen, leaving him confused.

Until he could rein in his doubts, his self-loathing, Raistlin Majere could do nothing.

He had given up his health in order to give life to Fistandantilus while they were connected. In return, the Archlich had shared his knowledge, his power, with young Raistlin.

_But how much of that power remains? How much of the thing you wanted so much is still within your grasp?_

Raistlin found that these questions terrified him the most. Besides helping to alter the shield around the Tower and adding a teleportation ring, Raistlin had rarely used his magic for the secret fear he'd find something vital missing or that his power was greatly diminished now.

Without his magic he was nothing.

He was ordinary.

He was just a common human.

Raistlin sobbed and buried his face deeper into Yurielle's pillow, willing all the thoughts to end. He felt vulnerable and exposed, what was left of his soul was judged because he couldn't hold himself together. Just as his half-sister had sneered in annoyance at his tears when he found himself without his twin, Raistlin felt as though all of creation was sneering at him.

_Useless, pathetic wretch..._

“So be it,” Raistlin murmured back.

Using Yurielle's lingering presence as an anchor, Raistlin Majere slowly pulled himself from the edge of anxiety and uncertainty. He embraced the memory of her acceptance, love and understanding and wrapped them around the raw edges of his emotions, around his soul, and around his heart.

“Yurielle will come back and light the way...” he told himself aloud as he drifted off to sleep. “She'll help me find myself.”

At least, he hoped so.

Because right now, in his mind, it seemed as though Raistlin couldn't do it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/13/20: I'm sorry this is later than I promised.  
> I haven't been feeling well, both mentally and physically, so I needed to take some time to myself. And as you read, this chapter was a downer and it didn't much improve my mental state. I've also been struggling with how much I wanted to explore codependency issues and the like between Raistlin and Yurielle as well as Caramon and Raistlin. Or if I should just cut it all out and get to the juicy stuff.  
> But in the end I think Raistlin very much has dependency issues with people in his life and due to the state he's in now I think he'd start to question how much he's doing this with Yurielle. So here we are, I just hope the character developments will be worth it as we go forward.  
> Anyway, thanks for sticking with me. Thoughts are appreciated, cuz I'm really not sure how readers are feeling at the moment.  
> Things will start getting interesting soon, please bear with me.  
> I'll try very much to get the next chapter up sooner rather than later, but I didn't get much done besides editing and right now deadlines just stress me out.  
> Take care and catch you next time ♥


	17. Kintsugi

“Gold, huh?” an amused, mercurial voice spoke. “Why am I not surprised?”

A face appeared through the strange haze that permeated the scene, an elf with golden skin and pale blue eyes stared back, a smug smirk on his angular face. The figure blinked and realized that he was looking at himself in a mirror.

“You're a vain creature,” the voice continued, “to shield yourself thus. It will protect you from magic surely, though I suspect that you'll get a knife in the back one of these days for your troubles.” The speaker laughed then, light and melodic and beautiful, but deep and far-off like an encroaching thunderstorm.

The elf turned his head and found the owner of that voice was a woman of unimaginable beauty who stood framed in reddish-purple moonlight against a backdrop of stars glittering beyond the balcony on which she stood. The light danced along her dark red hair and glowed on her vibrant robes the color of fresh blood. But what was most mesmerizing were her eyes, a deeper crimson than the moonlight bathing her, they were lit from within as if filled with fireflies, dancing with mirth and curiosity.

The elf knew who she was and his soul trembled with love and awe and reverence.

The woman tilted her head and gave him an enigmatic smile. She raised her finger to her red lips and with a wink, shushed him before he could call out or go to her.

He blinked and she was gone.

***

Feeling as if he was suddenly weightless, Raistlin's body gave a sudden jerk, yanking him from the strange scene. His eyes snapped open and he realized that he had fallen asleep in Yurielle's spot, his face still pressed firmly against her pillow, damp now with the tears that had stubbornly released themselves during his panic attack. Groaning, he sat up and looked out the window to find that the sun hadn't moved much further down the sky. He had only dozed off for a short while but found that he felt better because of it.

“I guess a nap does help from time to time.” He yawned and ran his hand through his hair. “What a strange dream,” he commented and shook his head, the images were blurred and distorted, already fading with the return of consciousness. Looking back down to his lover's pillow he ran his hand over the soft surface of it, wondering if Yurielle was enjoying her afternoon with her friends.

The Archmage froze in awe and terror.

His hand was not gold!

With a gasp, Raistlin yanked his hand off Yurielle's pillow as if it burned him. Holding it in front of his face he watched as his skin withered and mummified the same as it always did in his cursed eyes.

But his skin was not gold!

It was pale. Paler than pale!

His skin was white as a corpse, his veins clear and unmissable as they crisscrossed the back of his hand and down his arm in ribbons of blues and purples.

Pulling up his sleeve, Raistlin found his arm was the same, as was his other hand. Without thinking about what he was doing Raistlin rushed into the washroom, pulling open his robe in haste as he went. Finding the large viewing mirror in the corner by the bathtub, the Archmage stood before it with his robe pulled open and his tunic up so that he could see his stomach and chest.

All of his body was pale and white yet still touched by his cursed vision.

He turned his attention then to his face.

His eyes were still gold with their hourglass pupils and his visage was very much how he saw it when he would dare to look at himself, including the slow decay.

Raistlin blinked and for a heartbeat, the golden elf from his dream stared back at him, but he blinked again and that face was gone.

 _Had_ that been a dream?

Raistlin gripped the edges of the mirror, willing the face to return. In vain he tried to recall the details of it, but the harder he pressed the more the dream faded.

“Just a panic dream,” the Archmage murmured to himself as he studied the withering, pale features staring back at him - the ones he knew to be his.

Raistlin honestly couldn't recall the last time he had really looked at himself in the recent past. He appeared to be the same as the man he thought he remembered from before his Test.

Though older in appearance from the time of his Test of High Sorcery, Raistlin's face was still gaunt and thin, with sharp features and aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones. His lips were much too narrow, the lines around his mouth were deep from his tendency to scowl. His deep-set eyes, now shadowed heavily by thin, pale skin, looked too large on his long face. His hair was still white and colorless, long and limp and straight, nothing like the handsome brown locks that belonged to his twin...

In Raistlin's opinion, he was still just as unattractive as he had always been.

Ignoring how dead and aged his face was, Raistlin leaned closer to the mirror to better inspect the surface of his skin and was shocked by how he had forgotten the few freckles he saw. At one time they had been noticeable on his always pale complexion, but the gold sheen for ten years had hidden them and as a result, Raistlin had completely forgotten he even had any markings at all.

Before he even realized what he was doing, the Archmage was standing naked in front of the mirror, examining his whole body.

Curse be damned he had to see himself!

Yes, there was the scar on his knees from when he fell out of a tree as a young boy. And there... there was the mark where Caramon had bit him after Raistlin had done the same during a nasty fight when they were toddlers. Those marks, and many more, were from a childhood that Raistlin had completely forgotten about.

And each mark told a story that Raistlin remembered as he rediscovered them.

There was the mark where Raistlin had cut his arm once during the one time Caramon had persuaded him to spar with an old pair of swords. The thing was rusted and dull yet somehow he had managed to wound himself on its edge. He remembered the infection that followed; he had been lucky it didn't poison. And there, on his ribs, was the faded mark of when his teacher had hit him with one of his bamboo rods, the end had been splintered and torn the youths' skin, leaving a nasty, feathered mark.

The more Raistlin explored, the more memories came back to him. Not all were good, but he found that not all were bad either. Those that were bad, he was somehow grateful to have returned to him. Unlike the other memories he recalled, these memories had _proof_ that they had happened. Nothing about them was altered or diminished, for they shone on his body as reminders of who he was and what he had gone through.

“How is this possible?” Raistlin asked himself, his gaze on the mirror, taking in the whole of his pale, naked body. His golden eyes swept his form and he scowled darkly, again feeling revulsion rise in response to what he was seeing.

Forget the effects of his curse or how that changed him! Forget that he looked like a withered corpse washed up on some shoreline... What Raistlin saw still disgusted him. Much too thin, with sharp bony protrusions and a chest of too visible ribs, he still found he couldn't stand to look at himself.

Men were not supposed to look like this, he decided. They were not supposed to be this thin, this weak. Lovers didn't want something this unsightly. Raistlin scowled at his reflection so hard and with so much hate that the glass should have cracked. Yurielle was odd, her preferences strange, but he couldn't fathom how she could stand the sight of him. He should have muscles, he should have more body fat than this, he should look at least _somewhat_ like his twin!

But he didn't.

Raistlin was still the deformed grotesque he remembered from ten years ago. Here stood the object that drew so much ridicule and harsh remarks, the laughter behind hands and the leers down long noses adorning falsely pretty faces.

What was worse was that without his golden skin, Raistlin thought that his body looked far, far more disgusting. It was as if the magical shield hid the worst of what he didn't like and drew attention away from what he lacked compared to other men.

“You look like a dead, rotten fish,” Raistlin growled to his reflection as he put his clothes and robe back on. Once dressed, he returned to the bedroom, his fragile ego shattered.

With a flick of his hand the sputtering flames in the hearth came back to life and danced for him. He sighed in relief, at least he had the magic. Even if he doubted how strong it was since the separation from Fistandantilus, the magic had not left him completely.

Going to the bed Raistlin sat down. His eyes went to his palms and all the tiny scars that webbed across his long fingers from years of helping Weird Meggin tend her herb and rose gardens.

“How is this possible?” he asked the empty room.

Raistlin waited for that voice he had argued with while in the grip of his panic and anxiety to nag at him, but there was only silence. He wasn't surprised by no response. Maybe he was slowly going insane, sitting here by himself and arguing with voices only he heard and now his skin was normal... Was he imagining this?

Raistlin pushed the thought aside and focused on his palms. Running his fingers down each valley and fleshy pad and across the surfaces to his wrists he concluded that he was indeed not imagining this.

Why would his skin suddenly change?

“Is it because Fistandantilus is gone?” he asked himself. “But why did it take this long to happen?”

Getting up, Raistlin entered the study to see if he could find something that might explain it, perhaps another book there - !!!

He instantly had his answer.

As soon as he crossed the threshold the Archmage was smote with crippling, soul-crushing dread. He thought he was going to pass out from the intensity of the feeling, so strong was it. The fear that washed over Raistlin caused his knees to lock as if keeping him from approaching his desk. His chest tightened and he began to cough as if his lungs were trying to flee straight out of his body.

Raistlin barely managed to put one foot in front of the other as he redirected his course away from his desk and the pile of lich tainted objects upon it, for just looking at them made his head swim. Finally, he succeeded in getting to the sofa near the fireplace. It was closer than turning around and returning to the bedroom and Raistlin was certain he wouldn't have made it there even if he tried.

Sitting on the farthest edge away from the desk as possible, Raistlin soon felt a little bit better. Holding the sides of his head, he forced his breathing back under control and attempted to reel in the dread and terror that had made his pale skin break out in hot sweat and sent his heart hammering.

Once his lungs calmed and heart slowed, Raistlin concentrated on the feeling of unease and primal fear that still lingered. These feelings were intense and almost worse than the out of control spiral of his panic attack. If he didn't get a hold of these sensations or be able to master them quickly, he would not be able to function.

And the last thing that he wanted was for someone to find him like this...

He had to figure out how to master this! It wouldn't do for him to live out his days in his bedchambers, unable to pass through his study or enter the darker parts of the Tower where Fistandantilus' presence still lingered.

“This is _my_ Tower and _my_ body!” Raistlin growled angrily, his voice strained. “I am Master here and I will feel no fear!” he repeated to himself over and over in a litany that bolstered his resolve.

Closing his eyes, Raistlin imagined that he was able to push the feelings away from him. Like a wave of thick water, Raistlin pushed against the dread as if a bubble held back the terror as he repeated: “I am Master here and I will feel no fear.”

Farther and farther from his being Raistlin forced the panic and sense of suffocating dread as he calmed himself. He dug deep, deep down inside in an attempt to find safety, in an attempt to find anything within that could ward off the presence of Fistandantilus.

A flicker in his mind's eye caught his attention. Like the wisps of his dream from before, a far off memory stirred and quickly flashed before Raistlin's eyes:

“ _Shattered pieces can always be mended,”_ a voice said in another place and time. An elf held a broken bowl before him, its jagged edges gleamed golden in the faint candlelight, _“but it is up to you to choose the means to fix it...”_

The image was gone.

Raistlin dug further. He looked inside this thing that Yurielle had returned to him.

He looked inside his heart.

“ _Evil cannot find you there...”_ another voice whispered and a ruby-lipped smile was all he saw this time as he wove silk ribbons through her crimson hair. _“Promise me you'll keep it safe, always...”_ The woman turned as if to look up into his eyes, but before he could see her face, the image vanished.

As he continued to look within, Raistlin wandered through corridors clogged with doubt thick as cobwebs, felt as though he waded through water and tears deep enough to fill an ocean. Vast sorrow and emptiness surrounded him and pressed down as more memories touched his skin like the caress of butterfly wings, fleeting and ephemeral.

If Raistlin encountered a memory they vanished like morning dew if touched. But in the days afterward he would remember images such as running through a field of flaxen wheat and laughing while holding someone's hand. He caught the glimpse of a tall, glowing tower, the likes of which he had never imagined. And he saw the sky filled with dragons innumerable as they battled and rained their blood down upon clashing armies below.

These memories, while fascinating, the Archmage knew could not help him right now. He needed protection from his other half – from that soul he had worked eons to leave behind. Raistlin searched and clawed deeper into his being until his fingertips grazed that pool Yurielle had seen when she had been within his body while witnessing his Test. It was something she had tried to tell him about, but her words were paltry in comparison to what he sensed. In one heartbeat a faint golden shimmer rippled behind his eyelids at the brief, infinitesimal contact with something he had no understanding of.

“ _Wishes are powerful things,”_ a voice whispered as he lay on his back, gazing up at the star-filled sky. Soft clouds drifted across the glittering surface like leaves on a still pond to reveal the moons - all three - staring down at him in near-perfect alignment. The eye of magic watched him and blessed him with radiance. He stared up at them, knowing his heart was full of wishes...

The great eye blinked and the stars suddenly became embers and began to float down around him.

Raistlin knew this memory, for it was his and he found himself standing in that dark basement as the floor above him blazed. His spell had unleashed unexpected death on those that meant him harm while a lich breathed death upon the back of his neck. But he paid this no heed as motes of fire floated around him like fireflies...

Like beautiful, dancing stars.

“ _Rare it is, this power you hold...”_ another being said to him in a voice barely heard, echoing across time as he drowned in this inner pool of golden light. _“Such things can lay gods low and ignite stars...”_

He was suddenly standing on top of that strange, glittering tower, surrounded by a sea of stars. Two other people stood with him as they were all bathed in the triple light of their moons. One figure wore white, one black, and when Raistlin looked down at himself to see his chest was glowing.

Suddenly the light shone before him and a voice he finally recognized surrounded him. He knew that voice, for it was with him since conception. _“Look, Raist, bunnies...”_

Raistlin gasped in shock and surprise and tried in vain to see the shadow puppets that would rise and play on the wall, but like everything else, the vision disappeared.

Raistlin blinked one last time and the light he had just seen glittered in his vast, eternal palm. No... not the soft glow of candlelight, but of something far, far different. Suddenly Raistlin realized that he held that tiny blue spark of ambient magic in his hand and his breath caught in his throat.

Raistlin Majere knew that this memory was his yet not; for it belonged to a being he would never become in this reality yet was still connected to in ways he couldn't fathom.

“ _ **I'm sorry...”**_ he whispered to the dancing spark, his eternal voice echoed in the nothing that he had gone through to find it. Waves of darkness billowed off him like a shroud of despair and where his heart should have been, where once in other lives was light and love and joy, was a void of nothingness.

“ _I'm not sorry!”_ the tiny spark sang as it tickled his palm.

Within the memory that was his yet not, Raistlin knew that he had to crush the spark, for within that beloved piece of ethereal existence was a glittering wish dipped in gold; something that had been made from a version yet untainted...

The light exploded and there was nothing but shining radiance as he fell into that pool of gold inside his heart. Raistlin felt safe there, surrounded by the light that glimmered and pulsed until it slowly disappeared like the echo of a beating heart. 

Truly felt safe once more, for that strange power held the dread at bay and Raistlin knew that nothing could touch him now as the power retreated back inside himself, leaving no trace. The voices faded, the visions drifted away until finally, after several minutes of being certain that he felt normal again, Raistlin Majere came back to himself and opened his eyes.

And once more froze in awe.

His skin was gold again!

A profound sense of relief flooded Raistlin, for strangely he had almost dreaded the thought of permanently losing his golden protection. Though unnatural, the golden hue along his skin was a great benefit to him. It protected him from magical attacks but also it would seem that his shield was indeed some kind of response against the presence of Fistandantilus - just as Yurielle had always suspected. His inner being, or this strange inner pool of power and memory he held, somehow knew how to automatically create the shield and keep it active while in danger from that other half of his soul.

But why did it disappear in the first place?

Standing, Raistlin first went to his desk and made sure that the predatory feeling rolling off the lich's books was gone. It was. He even went so far as to lift one and open it, something he was sure he would not have been able to do just minutes ago.

With a sigh of relief Raistlin also found that he could still read the words within the book, could still understand and grasp their meaning and he took this as proof that he had not lost the knowledge granted to him by Fistandantilus. Raistlin had refused to even open these books since returning home to Palanthas, so great was the fear that with the Lich gone the vast knowledge and power was as well.

Shutting the book he returned it to the stack. Running his fingers over the dark silver runes Raistlin waited for the rush of excitement and pride that had always suffused his being before the Lich's departure. The feeling of dread and the instinct to back away and seek shelter was gone, replaced with cold indifference and loathing.

Confident that the magical protection of his golden skin was as it always had been, Raistlin returned to the bedroom and once more sat on Yurielle's side of the bed.

Looking around the room Raistlin focused and could tangibly sense the difference between this room and the study. Here there was no presence of the Archlich. Instead, there was only his Star. The study was still saturated with Fistandantilus' presence and Yurielle had added nothing to the space besides occupy it while helping Raistlin sort and go through items.

His study stank of Fistandantilus while this room was a sacred sanctuary that Raistlin and his beloved had made their own these past few weeks. Out there was dark forbidden knowledge while in here their ever-growing bond had cleansed the space, leaving it _theirs_. Raistlin's eyes roamed the room and noted that not long ago he had thought it pitifully empty, but now he saw an opportunity to fill it with new things, new knowledge, and new mementos that meant something to him and Yurielle.

There was one thing Raistlin couldn't quite understand, for it seemed too simplistic to have actually worked the way it seemed to have...

How could the complete removal of Fistandantilus' objects be enough for his unconscious mind to suddenly drop the shield? How could replacing the taint of the Lich with memories of love and hope for the future be enough to make this room sacred and safe enough?

There had to be more to it, for if it were that simple then just falling asleep here at any time these past few days should have, in theory, caused his skin to turn normal. The same thing should have happened when he'd be elsewhere, away from the Tower or in rooms where no memory of the Lich resided. Raistlin knew that he had been to several places such as this since he and Yurielle had returned to Skullcap and his skin had remained as it always was during those times.

Why was today different?

“Was it because I fell asleep thinking of you?” he asked Yurielle's pillow, again he ran a golden hand along its surface. His lips quirked up slightly, for he knew that Yurielle would want to see if the occurrence could be duplicated.

Figuring he had nothing to lose besides the rest of his afternoon, Raistlin laid back down.

Making himself as relaxed as possible Raistlin tried to recall everything he had thought of or experienced before he fell asleep. He knew that he had been well within the grips of a panic attack, arguing with the shadows of his thoughts and doubts, but Raistlin couldn't see how this was any benefit.

If anything, the emotional imbalance would seem to suggest that Raistlin was in an unfit state to do _anything_. He had barely been functional, much less in any kind of mental place to willingly let his shield go.

Or was he?

He recalled feeling vulnerable and exposed, like the whole of the universe could see him and judge him. It had been thoughts of Yurielle and her comforting halo of scent and lingering presence in the room that had calmed him and lulled him enough to doze off while still under the grip of panic.

Though he had fallen asleep, Raistlin hadn't dealt with that feeling of exposure. His panic, fear, doubts, and loathing had been kept at bay with thoughts of Yurielle. He had used _her_ as a shield to protect himself...

Perhaps that was the key?

Had his mind, while in that state, been able to let go of its need to keep his magical protection up as long as he was able to remain grounded and surrounded with the one thing that brought him peace? Had being surrounded by the comfort of his beloved been enough to relax his unconscious mind in order to allow himself to just... let go?

Again, the Archmage had nothing to lose and no one was here to see if he made a fool of himself. So, determined to replicate this strange occurrence Raistlin went back into that emotional state he was in earlier that day.

It was surprisingly easy to do.

Those emotions and self-deprecating thoughts always rolled just beneath the surface of his facade and came readily to the forefront when allowed. Uncomfortable with the feeling that this was so easy to sink like this, Raistlin continued to let his mood cascade lower and lower.

He thought of what he had done in his past, on the things he should regret but didn't. He thought of what he had just seen in the mirror and how revolting his body was. He thought of Caramon and of all the times he looked at him like a wounded puppy after Raistlin had said something harsh or hurtful to him. He thought of how he used Yurielle and how even though he knew he loved her, she was his drug that kept him sane during this uncertain time.

Raistlin let the hollowness left behind by the Archlich echo all the doubts, painful memories, and self-hate back to him. They grew louder and louder with each moment as new doubts rose and his mind voiced them: _This wasn't going to work. I'll never remember anything good about my past. The visions I witnessed were just my imaginations' attempt to reassure me. None of this is going to help me understand anything. Yurielle cannot save me forever, for like everyone else, she too will eventually leave, be driven off by what I am..._

However, Raistlin still held the comfort of Yurielle around him and as he did this, and soon he felt a strange calm spread through his body. It was like the calm he felt just as he had fallen asleep. He focused on it this time and observed it.

Like when he visualized pressing against the threat of Fistandantilus, this time Raistlin let himself imagine that all his defenses were down; that he truly was bare and exposed, open to the universe. He let himself be utterly, truly vulnerable to his pain and vulnerable to existence. He let his doubts consume him and he held them forth for all to see.

But Raistlin knew that he was safe here.

His doubts didn't mean anything; not here in the bed Yurielle and he shared their love in. His light and his Star, she would never judge nor hurt him. Even if someday there was a chance that she too would leave, right now she was his and he was hers. This room was their sanctuary of love and devotion.

Nothing of the Archlich existed in this room. Fistandantilus was not here, _he_ meant nothing.

Raistlin was safe here and he was all that mattered right now.

The Archmage could almost imagine that he felt it - the subtle sensation of when his skin shifted. One moment he could feel the magic of the spell drain him ever so slightly then in the next moment the feeling evaporated.

Opening his eyes Raistlin confirmed that indeed, his skin was no longer golden.

Fascinated now, Raistlin rose from the bed once more and stood in the doorway to the study. He eyed the spellbooks on the desk and already felt their chilling, ominous presence threatening him. Backing away to stand fully in the bedroom, Raistlin broke eye contact with the sinister objects and felt the difference in his body. It truly was as if his very being was reacting to the remaining taint of the Lich - that other half of soul that he had so desperately been freed from.

“But... can I control this?” Raistlin asked, again staring at his pale hands.

He walked back into the study, eyes stubbornly focused on his palms so that his mind wasn't sure when he entered the other room. The crushing weight of Fistandantilus slammed into him as every cell in his body hummed in warning the moment he crossed the threshold again. Raistlin strained against the urge to enter flight mode as his body tried to repel that other half of his soul.

Concentrating once more, Raistlin sought out that place inside his heart where he felt just as safe as he did within his bedchamber. He searched for the calm center, for that wellspring of power he had touched before. He didn't find it this time and no memories stirred as he searched, but he knew it was there, and knowing seemed to be enough. It took long moments of intense focus but finally the Archmage watched his withered, cursed-sight affected hands turn gold again.

Raistlin stared down at his palms, an elated smile spreading across his face. “I _can_ control this,” he said to himself and for the first time in many days, Raistlin felt vindicated and freed from many of his doubts.

He could control this!

_I'm powerful. I have mastery over myself. There is nothing I can't do when focused!_

Returning to the bedroom, Raistlin repeated the exercise. Except this time he stayed away from the bed and only focused on the sensation - not only of being _vulnerable_ \- but of the knowledge that he was free. He didn't let himself sink low into depression or succumb to his doubts, he merely allowed himself to open up and let go. He allowed himself to accept these things as part of himself.

Long moments passed and nothing happened.

Concentrating so hard his forehead broke out in a sweat, Raistlin tried again. “I can do this,” he told himself again. It was true, he knew he could. All he had to do was train his instincts and this power would come to heel. As Raistlin had declared before, he was Master here. This was _his_ Tower and _his_ body. He now knew and understood that he did have master over himself, for there was only him in this room. No one else influenced his thoughts or actions in this moment.

So most importantly, Raistlin Majere knew that he was free.

He was free of Fistandantilus. The lich wasn't here. The Archlich could not get this hidden power inside of Raistlin - the piece of soul that broke away. They were separated now and were completely two distinct entities.

“I'm _not_ Fistandantilus,” Raistlin said to himself. “I am Raistlin Majere...”

With that declaration, the Archmage closed his eyes and stilled his thoughts. His golden shield existed to protect him from Fistandantilus taking control of his body. But as he let himself consider it, he realized that so too did he use the shield to keep others away. Raistlin knew that common folk were unsettled by his appearance and often would avoid him. Rare were the cases when people were curious, and those were often kender or another magic-user. This avoidance had once suited the solitary mage just fine.

But Raistlin didn't need to keep people away... not anymore.

This was the hardest to accept for Raistlin; opening up to allow himself to _be_ himself – whoever that turned out to be in the end. Raistlin decided he was willing to try, at least here in this sanctuary he shared with his beloved.

“Fistandantilus is not here,” he whispered to himself. “No one is here to see me fail... Even if I do fail, nothing can take what I have away from me...”

Raistlin knew that he was safe, that he could let go.

It took a few minutes to focus his thoughts correctly but he finally managed to drop the golden shield again. The Archmage couldn't help but smile widely at this achievement. How he wished Yurielle was here to see it!

Now, Raistlin had to ask himself, would he be able to summon it when not threatened by remnants of the Archlich? Could he turn this from being a subconscious reaction to one that he had firm control over?

It took repeated tries and more failures than successes but, eventually, Raistlin managed to touch that deep well inside his heart and not only summon his golden shield when not near an object tainted by Fistandantilus, but he was also was able to drop it while in his study and exposed to the Lich's threat. This was by far the most difficult as every ounce of his being wanted nothing else but to flee and find safety from his other half. But once he managed it, Raistlin was pleased with his accomplishment.

The Archmage had finally done something on his own!

No books have given him this, no voice had whispered it to him when he was in dire need, _he_ did this! Raistlin Majere had mastered a deep part of himself and this alone eased much of his anxiety and doubt.

Feeling drained and strangely sore from his endeavor, Raistlin looked out the window to find that the hour was drawing closer to evening. The sun was descending lower in the sky and starting to cast shadows on the floor and splashing the underside of the clouds with its light.

Still unsure as to when Yurielle would return, Raistlin decided that he would use this opportunity to truly test his shield. Returning to the study he continued his previous task and began piling various books into smaller stacks for transportation up into the laboratory. He would then begin placing them in their new homes.

Raistlin knew he should probably rest and absorb what had just happened, but he needed something to keep himself occupied. Though his doubts and fear had eased a bit, there was still the underlying anxiety that he had no idea where Yurielle was. If he didn't keep busy, the urge to go into the city to find her would grow to be too strong.

He had to trust Yurielle and the ones she called friends. His Star would return and Raistlin wondered how he would show her his new discovery.

Drained as he was, the Archmage managed to teleport himself and a large stack of objects up to the laboratory. Here Raistlin focused on the task of sorting, cataloging, and finding homes for the things he no longer wanted in his life.

Because finally, for once, Raistlin Majere was starting to understand what he _did_ want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/17/20: Hello again! :) I decided to update today even though I just did last weekend to not only make up for the long lag but also to celebrate a breakthrough that I had with a chapter I was struggling with!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed today's chapter and my attempts to solve Raistlin's golden skin. There were some call backs to things in Part 1 that I hope you caught *smirks* So many threads does my version of Raistlin have - Past, Present and Future - we will explore so many!
> 
> Anyway things are slowly improving. Mentally I'm in a better place but psychically is taking longer. I've come to the conclusion I really hurt myself when I fell and hit my head a few weeks ago as I've been having dizzy spells since. I'll be seeing a chiropractor next week and until then I'm doing practically nothing and limiting my computer time.
> 
> Despite less computer time, as mentioned above, I had a huge breakthrough with an upcoming chapter that had me hung up for WEEKS/MONTHS! So that really made me happy.
> 
> For now I think I'm set on chapters for a while so I'll try to get back to weekly updates. No big promises but baring any big problems or issues, that's the plan for now! ♥ Stay safe and catch you next week!


	18. The Revenant

Ariallah heard the soft swish of Fistandantilus' robes and the even tread of his boots against the polished floor long before he appeared before her. The sound of his footsteps reminded her of a heartbeat, sick and too full of blood as it sloshed and thudded against the backside of broken ribs.

By the time the light of his strange magical fire touched her, she was standing at attention in the middle of her cell; she would not cower in the corner like some beaten dog.

Not in front of him.

“Ah, my dear,” Fistandantilus said as he neared. “Are you finally ready to talk civilly?” he asked with his usual sneer.

She glared at him, at the Bloodstone embedded in his chest, and at the strange witch-light he held in his left hand. The fire flickered greenish-blue tinted with tongues of purple at the apex as he rolled the small ball of flame across his fingers, playing with it as a juggler plays with crystal balls. Ariallah had seen jugglers before, many times in many lives, and none wore the sinister smirk that relayed supreme satisfaction at the ability he put on display.

Whatever magic Fistandantilus now held, he was growing stronger and more proficient with its use.

Ariallah sensed that the magical fire in his hand was once a simple light cantrip. But now it was perverted, tainted with something unholy and malevolent. She was beginning to guess where he drew his power from, but she had to learn more. The whispers didn't know either, so it was up to her to understand what was happening in this strange and dark place, and the only way to do so was try to cooperate.

But doing so was proving to be difficult when her every instinct and desire was to kill him!

This was the third time the Archlich had descended into the bowels of his lair to speak to her since his body had been reformed with the help of Takhisis. The first two events had not ended well and Ariallah knew in the marrow of her bones that this once was probably not going to either, so she braced herself for whatever foul game he wanted to play this time.

During his first visit, Ariallah had tried to outright attack Fistandantilus the moment he had opened the webbing of her cell. She had managed to rip apart three of his accursed creations accompanying him with her bare hands before he grew bored of watching her battle and touched the stone on his chest. The pain that followed had robbed her of all her senses and the will to fight and she had collapsed, screaming on the floor again. After the pain had ended, Fistandantilus himself had to drag her to a new cell because her voice had destroyed the old one, leaving it a ruin of broken shards and twisted metal wire.

Somehow, her voice didn't touch him and somehow it was only destructive when he used the Bloodstone against her. Ariallah discovered this after that incident when she found herself alone in the dark. Lonely and bored, she had tried to sing, to hum, to do anything to summon the force that could shatter obsidian. But her voice was not her sister's, it was no longer the beautiful symphony of life and light. Hollow and empty, Ariallah's voice was a memory of living sound.

In an attempt to learn more of herself and what she could do, Ariallah had even tried to use the magical spells she once knew and could cast with ease during lifetimes long past. Strongest of these memories came from that last life where she had been a red-robe, when she had been _his_ lover. She knew that she had been strong in the Art in that life, probably the strongest she had been in any life she had wielded the magic. The words came to her, crystal clear from her memory, and she chanted them with her new, hollow voice.

But nothing happened.

The second time Fistandantilus visited he had merely sat outside her cell and the two of them had stared at one another for what felt like hours. Her gaze was filled with animosity, his with curiosity.

Neither had said a word but Ariallah could feel his foul magic probing her again as he tried to understand what she was. He would run his finger along the stone in his chest, touching it gently and sometimes forcefully, observing its effects on her, smirking those vile lips into a cruel grin as he watched her wince in pain or scream in agony or be reduced to quiet whimpers as other sensations she did not want to feel flooded her.

It quickly became very apparent to Ariallah that she usually felt nothing until Fistandantilus was near and used the stone against her. She preferred it this way, the empty, emotionless void inside her where she could listen to the whispers in her head undisturbed. But when he was near and used the stone, she was forced to feel pain, anger, joy, sorrow, and lust.

Ariallah had yet to figure out if these feelings were hers or memories of those trapped inside the Bloodstone...

Or his.

That last time he visited her, Fistandantilus had finally come to some conclusion and left without a word. His dark robes swallowed by the darkness of his halls as he departed.

Ariallah had no idea how long ago that had been. Days? Weeks? Months? Time had no meaning down here in this silent pit.

She eyed Fistandantilus warily now that he had suddenly appeared again without any reason to. She didn't need food or water, so there was no need for him to check on her. So him paying her a visit simply meant to her that he was more than likely here to play one of his mind games again. Ariallah was not afraid of him but, despite her best efforts, she feared the Bloodstone and the pain it could inflict on her. It was clear to the woman now that this body lacked the same feeling that a living one did. Sensations were vague and dulled or nonexistent.

But not when focused through that dreaded stone!

Suddenly two more figures appeared from the darkness behind Fistandantilus and Ariallah was surprised to note that they were human. Living humans, for the scent of blood and sound of heartbeats filled the air around her; different than the cloying scent and sound of the Archlich, somehow fouler and less pleasant than his, but still alive.

“I have brought you means to bathe as well as new clothing,” Fistandantilus said, indicating the items the new arrivals held in their hands. One held a large basin of water; it was warm and gently steamed indicating to Ariallah that it was cold in here. The other carried what looked to be garments. “Those rags you are wearing will be vapors if more time passes,” the Archlich added with a raised eyebrow in her direction.

He was right.

Ariallah glanced down at herself. Whatever strange fabric had once covered her had begun to disintegrate shortly after waking up here. Now the wisps hung off her body in tatters, doing little to offer her protection and doing nothing to preserve her modesty. Her ivory skin was still covered in the dark blood from when she had torn his creatures apart, doing more to cover her than what was left of her clothing.

Ariallah didn't care. All she cared about was ripping that stone from Fistandantilus' chest! She sought an ending this hollow existence, to sleep and return to the other side where she belonged.

“Come now, don't be stubborn,” Fistandantilus said when she refused to speak or do anything but glare at him. With a flick of his other hand, he undid the spell between them so that the iron-hard webbing folded back. “I can't have you walking around naked and covered in blood as the day you were born, even if that was only last week.”

Last week? Had so little time passed?

“Wash her,” Fistandantilus ordered the one who held the basin of water.

The being bowed and Ariallah recognized the graceful movement of a female body beneath the dark robes that hid their features. Unafraid or unaware that Ariallah could rip her to pieces with only her hands, the woman entered the cell and stopped in front of her. Without a second glance, she set the basin down on the floor at their feet and took one of the cloths, wet it, and stood, waiting for Ariallah to give some sign that she could do as Fistandantilus commended. Perhaps her hesitation meant that she did know, or at the very least sensed, that she could easily be torn asunder.

Ariallah eyed the items the other human held in their hands. She saw black cloth but also the glitter of some kind of chain mail underneath it. Her gaze shot to Fistandantilus and found him watching her, a smirk played at the corner of his thin mouth as he still rolled that small ball of strange flame across his hand, the light danced wickedly in his eyes.

Suddenly she understood, he was daring her to kill the woman in her cell, daring her to attempt to kill _all_ of them. The glint in his eye was eager, hopeful, that she'd again display the raw savagery of her power to him.

What sort of monster did he think she was?

Anger and annoyance welled within her and Ariallah tore the remaining black wisps from her body with one hand and with the other grabbed the wet cloth from the woman and started scrubbing at her filthy skin. “Why such sudden kindness?” she asked, her voice echoing with its strange new timbre.

The smirk widened on Fistandantilus' face as he watched her wash the dried blood caked to her body. Ariallah couldn't tell if it was because he had won yet another of his games or if he was enjoying the sight of her naked flesh being slowly revealed as the gore was cleaned away.

“Do you think me unkind?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, his left eye glittered at her with that strange inner green glow that did not reflect the witch-light in his fingertips. Instead it seemed to pull it in, grow brighter as it fed on his own power.

“My dear _Ariallah_ ,” he said her name and her skin crawled as the word slid off his tongue. She had no idea where or how he had learned it but she hated that he possessed it now. “You are precious to me and I do not wish to leave you rot down here for all eternity.”

“You have _use_ for me, that what you really mean to say,” she said as the woman next to her had begun to also wash her with another of the cloths.

Soon the basin of water was dark with blood. The other woman spoke a spell and the water cleared again so that she could continue her administrations.

Ariallah hadn't realized just _how_ covered she was in blood and gore, for soon the floor was wet with dark liquid and chunks as her attendant continued to soap her hair and pour handfuls of water through the locks to rinse them.

“Of course I have use for you,” Fistandantilus replied. “You will serve me well, my dear, precious revenant.”

The word struck through Ariallah's core and despite her best efforts, her wide-eyed gaze shot up to meet his.

Revenant.

A memory of long ago flooded her, the whispers told her of a time when the two of them had mused over theories and researched long nights regarding many things. Fistandantilus had always had a fascination with undead, even when he was still her red-robed apprentice.

Revenants were things theorized to be born from souls who had met a cruel and undeserving fate. They were usually mindless, powerful creatures that roamed the world until they had completed their quest to exact revenge on whatever had wronged it or until they fulfilled some last desire that its soul yearned for in life.

“Revenants don't exist,” she said, her voice trembled slightly, “not like whatever I am...”

“No, indeed?” he smirked at her, breaking eye contact and letting his gaze fall along her body as the other woman continued to cleanse her. “Then what _are_ you?” he asked once his appraisal was finished.

“I don't know...” she whispered softly, more to herself than anyone else. “But I'm not _yours_!” she added defiantly.

“Really?” His hand drifted to his chest where the Bloodstone glittered and he smiled wider when he saw Ariallah's body brace for the inevitable pain.

Fistandantilus dropped his hand away a heartbeat later, his point made.

“Dress,” he commanded harshly. “Then we will talk.”

The Archlich did not leave as the woman finished cleaning Ariallah's body and hair of all traces of the foul, bloody ichor. Once that job concluded the other attendant entered the cell and held out the small pile of garments. Fistandantilus continued to watch silently from his place a few paces back.

“Why do you stare?” Ariallah asked, feeling his eyes on her as she finished bathing. She wasn't ashamed, not really. To her, this body felt like a shell, a hollow thing that encased her being, nothing more. Though shapely and pretty, this was a poor imitation of her twins' form, a copy and one that had been created as if from memory. But the longer Fistandantilus caressed her with his eyes, the more uncomfortable it made her.

“Why not?” he asked from the shadows, amusement tinted his voice.

“Don't you have something better to do?” she snapped. She hated how he could make a shell feel so vulnerable with only his gaze.

His chuckle echoed through the cavern and she clenched her teeth in revulsion to keep herself from shuddering.

“This body that you have _is_ pleasing,” he said. “It has been many long ages since I have even noticed the supple form of another. Looking through the eyes of Raistlin Majere as he rutted with his little bird brought back many memories of things I had gone centuries without.” He cocked his head to the side as he watched her. “The universe is funny, isn't it, my dearest _Master_? We're together again, given new life, new chances. So, it is a boon to me that you inhabit this form. We could pick up right where we left off...”

“Go to the Abyss!” she growled at him. Ariallah knew that he did this with purpose; it was just another game he played and one that she refused to let him win.

“But my dear,” he purred from the shadows, his voice slithering along the walls until they seemed to hum, “you said so yourself in Skullcap, that you've waited for so very long for me. Well, here I am, what is it you wanted if not to be mine again?”

Her eyes darted to him; his witch-light gleamed across the pale indigo surfaces. Ariallah was sick of his games. Two could play if that's what he wanted! “To send you to the great beyond where you belong,” her lip sneered, “ _Dany_.”

Fistandantilus chuckled again but she didn't miss the dark look in his eyes and the slight tightening to his shoulders. “I find that, even after all these eons, I still hate your little pet name for me,” he spat. “Don't make me rip your tongue out, my dear; I need you to be able to speak.”

“For these _tasks_ you say you have for me?” she asked as she hurried to dry.

“But of course,” he said. “Among other things. You know how I enjoy your screams...”

Ariallah couldn't stop the shudder that ran up her spine, for they both knew that one didn't need a tongue to scream. Quickly she pulled the black leggings up her body. She didn't want him to win his perverse game, but she couldn't stand his gaze a second longer than necessary nor his leering tone.

Next, she donned the tight-fitting, long-sleeved tunic that matched the leggings. Both were woven of thick, sturdy material that brought to mind some kind of leather. But whatever beast bore such a hide, she had no idea, for it was supple and soft as silk against her skin and she instinctively knew it would keep all but the sharpest blades from cutting or stabbing her.

Once dressed in the black leathers the other attendant began helping her put on the next layer of what she had first thought was chain mail. But now, upon closer inspection, she saw that it was anything but.

“Mithral?” she asked, surprised as she examined the armor.

“Indeed. You have a sharp eye for the fineries in life, my dear,” Fistandantilus confirmed. “Ancient and of a make no longer seen or able to be created on Krynn, that mithral you hold in your hands is the only one of its kind. My armory is vast and many items predate the Third Dragon War, but that shirt was old when my Queen was first barred from the world.”

Ariallah gasped slightly at the fine mesh of silvery-blue metal that ran through her fingers like water; the weave so fine and supple it was as if the maker had spun wire soft as hair to make the links. She shook her head to clear the whispers that filled her mind telling her of ancient people no longer upon Krynn who once wove such pieces.

Third Dragon War, Takhisis being blocked from Krynn, none of what he spoke of held meaning to her. All these events had happened after Ariallah's murder; events that had shaped Krynn in ways she did not know until she had come to be born as a twin to Yurielle.

Her soul had been in limbo for so very, very long...

It was only after her death in the icy river as a child did she find herself on the other side and only then had she begun to absorb so much knowledge. Ariallah still did not understand what she was, still did not remember how part of her had left the Bloodstone to be reborn next to Yurielle and she could not fathom why she had not been given final rest after separating Raistlin from Fistandantilus.

But here she was, a creature trapped in a shell with knowledge granted by the whispers of the dead; from those damned souls still within the Bloodstone.

“Why?” she asked, whirling on Fistandantilus and shooting him with a glare meant to kill. “ _Why_ give me this?!”

“You are to be my instrument,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “my right hand of death and as such, you must be protected at all costs.” He flicked his fingers and each of the humans with him opened their robes. They reached into the dark folds and Ariallah sucked in a breath when they both pulled forth long, slender blades. They dropped to their knees in front of Fistandantilus and offered the swords up to him.

The woman watched, accepting this would be her death or another moment of cruelty from him as Fistandantilus ran his long fingers, still lit with witch-light, along each blades' edges. As he did he murmured arcane words that perverted the air around them with its unnatural sound. The blades absorbed the energy and the witch-light and began to glow and hum eerily, vibrating with the strange new power he suffused into each.

When it was over Fistandantilus stepped back, his left eye was glowing bright green in response to his new magic; a sick, twisted smile rested on his lips. “There,” he said, “blades worthy of my right hand. Take them, my dear, for they are yours and suffused with my new magic. With them, you will cut bloody swaths through our enemies.”

The humans turned and laid the blades at her feet. By their faint glowing light, Ariallah finally saw into their hoods, the eerie glow casting in sharp relief the skull masks they wore over half their faces. Dark blood had dried along their left cheeks, and Ariallah could see that within the mask's eye socket was a glittering emerald that glowed with the same flicker as Fistandantilus' one eye. She suddenly realized that they no longer had eyes of their own beneath the jewel, they had sacrificed them to their new master.

These poor souls had bound themselves to Fistandantilus and like her, were something that no longer resembled humans; were no longer wizards of the three gods of magic. Like the blades, they were tainted with something far, far darker and not of this world. Her eyes shot back up to Fistandantilus who stood there, smiling at her and seemed to know her thoughts.

Slowly Ariallah reached down and picked up the weapons. They vibrated under her touch, strange and unholy, but not unpleasant. “I do not know how to use them,” she confessed more to herself than the Archlich.

“Yes, you do,” his voice drew her attention from the blades back to his eyes. The glow had faded but not the ecstasy from his face as a result of using this new, dark magic. “You hold the thoughts and memories of countless souls within you,” he said, his head cocked to the side gently again, his hair spilling down his chest. “You hear them. They speak to you, do they not? Though you are outside the Bloodstone, you are still tethered to it and by extension, to me.”

Ariallah stared at him, the whispers quieted as ice filled her to her very core. Slowly her eyes were drawn to that pulsing point on Fistandantilus' chest. The Bloodstone glowed faintly with every beat of his heart and she could feel its thrumming inside her bones. Unable to look back to his smug, twisted face, Ariallah turned her attention to the magical weapons he had given her.

Lightweight and perfectly balanced, the thin blades were masterfully crafted. Slender and shorter than most swords, they seemed to be made for a female's use; the handles were formed for a woman's palm and grip. Though plain and mostly unadorned, the weapons spoke of ancient creation dating as far back as the armor he had bestowed on her.

“You only make me more dangerous,” she growled at him, her voice reverberating along the glass walls. She turned them in her hands, instinctively taking a battle stance, posed and ready to strike. “You know I won't stop until I kill you, _Dany_.”

His laughter was terrifying, beyond mad. Like a shrieking host of insane demons, Fistandantilus' laughter rang through the walls, echoing deep into the bowels of the earth. Like the fleshy creatures from before, the two attendants fell to their knees again and cowered in terror at the horrible sound erupting from their master.

“Try it!” he shouted.

With speed faster than any human possessed, Ariallah flung herself at Fistandantilus, the blades before her sang with anticipation equal to the Archlich's. She slashed through the air, eager to separate his head from his neck with one blade and with the other stab him through that black heart by shattering the stone above it.

But to her astonishment, the weapons froze in midair, their tips just inches from him!

“What trickery is this?!”Ariallah cried and slashed again, this time at another angle that promised to spill his insides on the floor in a steaming heap.

Again, the blades stopped.

With an angry growl, she flung them away. They clattered along the floor, ringing ominously as they disappeared into the shadows.

“Try again, my vengeful angel,” he taunted, his lip sneering. “I'm right here. Do your worst. Rip me apart and tear me asunder! Seek your revenge for how I sucked your soul out while ravaging your dead body!”

Terrible, cold anger sent her vision red as Ariallah again launched herself at Fistandantilus. Her hands curled into claws, ready to rip his throat open and bathe in his foul blood. At the last moment before she could tear him apart, the feral woman slammed up against an invisible wall with a resounding crack. If she had been mortal, she would have broken several bones in her body from the impact. Instead, she staggered back, dazed.

“Again!” Fistandantilus yelled. “Do it! KILL ME!” he taunted loudly, madly. “Make me scream as you screamed!”

Ariallah slashed her nails through the air intending to disembowel him with her fingers alone. Lost in rage she flailed, throwing herself repeatedly at the Archlich and every time she did so she was refused her revenge. The woman growled angrily when her fingertips sailed harmlessly passed him, a scant inch from the front of his robes. Again and again she tried until she screamed in frustration as she tore at the invisible barrier between them.

“Release your shield you coward!” she screeched, attempting to rip apart the air between them, the sounds she made were inhuman and full of fury.

Fistandantilus stared at her as she tried to tear him asunder, his eyes gleaming, a wicked smile across his gaunt face; a face that was a twisted mockery of Raistlin Majere's, as if that too had been reformed from someone's memory. Not a hair was moved in her attempt to reach him, not a flutter of cloth on his body or a bat of an eyelash.

“There is no barrier!” he laughed in triumph. “You _cannot_ touch me!”

Ariallah took a step back, panting. Though her body did not need oxygen, her rage demanded that her lungs go through the motions. “You lie,” she spat, her fingers flexing, still curled into deadly talons. “This is a spell and I _will_ find a way past it!”

“No spell, my dear,” he said and motioned to the Bloodstone in his chest. It pulsed brightly with every beat of his heart and Ariallah suddenly understood. He was invincible against her as long as the stone was embedded in his chest.

And she was powerless to remove it.

“Yes,” he hissed the word as the truth sank in. “So you see,” he closed the distance between them, “like that golden shield that little runt hides behind, I too, have my own barrier from that which is most dangerous to me.” Slowly Fistandantilus reached out and touched the black ends of Ariallah's still-damp hair, weaving the strand around a long, pale finger. “You can't touch me, but I can certainly touch _you_.”

She tried to grab his wrist but again her hands stopped just a hairsbreadth away from him. Ariallah grasped at the air, tried to crush whatever barrier surely must be keeping them apart. Nothing happened except a brighter pulsing of the Bloodstone as his heart rate sped up in response to his growing excitement and pleasure from the power he held over her.

“You sick bastard,” Ariallah growled, squeezing with all her might. “You're _enjoying_ this!”

“But of course I am, my dear,” Fistandantilus laughed. “It is ecstasy to me to see you so full of blood lust. You always were so full of passion and energy! It pleases me to see you have not lost your edge. You truly will serve me well my beautiful, dark angel.”

The Archlich's cruel smile twisted again into an ugly leer. Easily he moved his arm while it was all Ariallah could do to try to keep it still. Her hands were still around the barrier but nothing she did, no amount of strength or pulling against him, halted or impeded Fistandantilus' movement. Slowly, with his other hand, he reached up and ran a fingertip along her jaw.

Ariallah froze at his touch, unnerved and revolted to her core at the almost tender caress.

Quicker than even she could see, his long, cold fingers were suddenly around her neck, squeezing. She gasped as inhuman strength began to crush her windpipe. Ariallah felt tissues pop and crunch as tighter and tighter his fingers curled, nails biting into flesh, drawing dark, unliving blood.

She wasn't mortal, but in that moment Ariallah realized this body of hers _could_ be damaged!

“Dearest, ancient lover, full of dark, bloody rage and thirsty for my death,” Fistandantilus whispered softly into her hair as her knees gave out and she began to sink to the floor. “I _could_ kill you,” he squeezed even harder and darkness began to descend upon her vision, blackening it at the edges, “but I don't think even _that_ will end you.” He chuckled darkly at the pitiful squeak she managed to utter. “Remember, dearest, that a revenant will reform if killed or destroyed before their task is completed. Do you really wish to test the theory? I'm willing if you are...” He brought her face closer to his, his lips grazed against her earlobe as he whispered, “Scream for me?”

Ariallah struggled in vain against the force crushing her neck. She tried to kick at Fistandantilus but again came up against the invisible wall, her hands were useless around his wrists. Her eyes were wide and she attempted to catch the gaze of either of the humans beside them. They were still prostrating on the floor, doing nothing but cowering.

Suddenly Fistandantilus threw her from himself and she landed in a heap a few feet away. Air rushed back into Ariallah's lungs at her command and she lay there, panting heavily as all the rage and anger bled out of her to be replaced with an empty, suffocating helplessness.

Fistandantilus stood before her, an arm's length away, yet he may have been on the other side of the moons for the impenetrable distance between them.

“I know that you hate me, my dear,” Fistandantilus said at last, his attention on his nails as if he had scuffed one. “I know this is not where you wanted to be. But I suggest that we work together to make this as bearable as possible for the both of us. If you want to take the path of pain, I will oblige. But I'd rather that we take other, more _satisfying_ routes to get what we want...” His eyes glinted at her as he smirked again. “There is no need to be enemies.”

“I will never ally myself with the likes of you!” she hissed through a damaged throat.

“Do you really have a choice?” he asked, amused.

She spit in his face.

Fistandantilus' hand went to his chest and he pressed against the stone there.

Ariallah tried to hold back the scream, she tried to be stronger than the agony, but it was too much. When the soul-rending pain was over she lay in a broken crater of shattered glass. The two humans that were once huddled beside Fistandantilus were several feet away, unconscious -or worse- on the floor.

Fistandantilus stood there, unharmed and unmoved by her display. With a dispassionate eye he viewed the damage she caused again. “If we keep this up, dearest, there isn't going to be anything left of my favorite dungeon,” he said with an irritated sigh.

Ariallah lay there, panting as the agony receded.

The Archlich came to her side and crouched next to her.

It was all Ariallah could do to not crawl away from him, to not burst into tears of hate and frustration at this new development. Whatever she was, she was bound to him in the worst possible way. Encased in a shell given unnatural, inhuman life, she was seemingly doomed to be his thrall, under the mercy of his cruelty.

As if reading her thoughts, Fistandantilus reached a hand out and lifted her chin with a thin finger so that their eyes met; faded indigo and twisted, mismatched orbs held one another in a warring gaze.

“You think me cruel, don't you?” he asked softly but his voice lacked any warmth or comfort as he spoke. “I do not need to be. I do not need to punish you as long as you listen and cooperate. I promise you that there will be no more pain if you agree to do and be what I ask of you, my dear _revenant_.”

“I hate you,” Ariallah said back, her voice trembling, full of loathing and unshed tears.

“I know,” he said and to her surprise, he sighed. It was an empty sound and echoed with the weight of centuries.

Gently Fistandantilus tilted her head to the side and inspected her neck. Dark, oily fingermarks marred her ivory skin. As he watched, the black veins beneath her flesh webbed forth over the marks and bled into them. In a matter of moments the blemishes faded and the lines, like cracks in marble, disappeared, leaving her skin ivory and perfect.

“Beautiful,” he murmured in a reverent tone. “In all my existence, I have never seen something as perfect and powerful as you... Truly you are a masterpiece of magic and necromancy,” he said in awe as the damage he had done healed. Slowly his eyes ran along her face to finally lock with hers. “What songs will you sing to me, my sweet, dark angel of death and anger?”

Silence stretched between them as Ariallah listened to that beating of his heart, felt it in her marrow as she searched the empty void of his corrupted eyes; eyes that looked back at her from behind a thin veil of brown and white hair.

Likewise, Fistandantilus stared back at the woman trapped here in his domain. Nay, not a woman, he reminded himself. She was something of far, far more value to him than a mere female.

The Archlich had yet to fully come to understand how this woman had come to be thus, the soul of his lover returned to him from the place he had shoved her untold years ago. Now housed in this perfect, undead body, they had unexpectedly been reunited.

It wasn't lust that drew him to her; he had females in abundance now if he so actually needed one. Instead, it was a fascination driven by the need to understand what this new magic of his had done. He had used her soul to ignite the power of the Bloodstone ages ago, but somehow, inexplicably, she had been reborn to be a twin to the creature his wayward soul splinter had taken as a lover.

Fistandantilus did not believe in fate. He did not believe in destiny or in the intervention of gods. He had lived for far, far too long to rely on or believe in anything other than himself. The ancient Lich had seen everything in his span of existence... but nothing answered how any of this could be so.

It was frustrating to him, fascinating, and so very, very _exciting_.

“You were so cocky beneath Skullcap,” he said softly, his deep voice somehow smooth as the black velvet that adorned him. “I remember now... you spoke of how there must always be balance while the universe rights itself,” he mused more to himself than her as his hand still held her neck, his eyes searching hers as if that would open her secrets to him.

“The universe is balance,” she replied, her voice raw.

Fistandantilus raised an eyebrow. “I've lived for far too long to still believe in such constraining nonsense.”

“You are a fool then.”

“Hmph,” he snorted. He studied her a few more moments, his hand trailing along her neck before finally dropping away.

Suddenly Fistandantilus stood and held his hand out to her. “Come,” he beckoned, “let me show you my kingdom. Come meet my subjects and those you will lead in my name and bring me victory. Perhaps, once you see, once you understand, you will not fight me so.” His fingers twitched again. “A new age awaits this world, and I would like you to stand by my side as it dawns.”

The woman stared up at him, his smooth, pale palm stretched out before her, waiting, welcoming. The whispers in her head clamored together, angry, despairing. She knew it was a trick, that he was nothing but lies. Fistandantilus would never see her as anything but a means to an end. She wasn't even a person to him, but an instrument, a thing to do his bidding.

This was not how it was supposed to be! This was not a choice she wanted to make!

But to survive, to endure, what other choice did she have?

“I'm sorry, sister,” Ariallah whispered as she took the hand of Fistandantilus. “Please forgive me...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/24/20: Writing these two takes me to some dark places that I never expected. Hopefully it wasn't too uncomfortable to read. I thought about adding a trigger warning but since nothing really happened besides Fistandantilus being, well, his creepy gross self, I skipped it. If someone feels differently let me know :)
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Take care and see you next time.


	19. The Parting Gift

Caramon winced as the iron skillet clanged against the grate above the small kitchen fire where Tika worked at making the family's breakfast. Glancing up from his spot at the head of the table, the big man attempted one final time to silently plead with his wife to not make so much noise.

Tika met his bloodshot gaze but continued to scrape the skillet with her spatula as she prepared the eggs and bacon. She didn't say anything, but Caramon saw the disappointment in her usually warm green gaze. His wife was once more hurt and upset and he knew that nothing he could say or do would be able to take back what had happened last night...

Caramon groaned into his hands, accepting his miserable fate. He deserved his wife's ire, deserved her cold shoulder, for he had broken his promise to her yet again.

One drink... that's what he would allow himself.

Just one.

He had earned it, or so he reasoned in the moment, for he was a Hero of the Lance! Caramon Majere was celebrated, honored and venerated, and as such, he was entitled to do as he pleased. But now this hero was having second thoughts about his line of thinking as his brain felt like it was filled with dragon fire. Caramon was beginning to realize, among many things, that he lacked the willpower and resolve to stick with his promises.

The big man sat at his usual spot and allowed every stabbing pain to lance through his brain, felt every small noise reverberate through his bones as his wife ignored his self-induced plight. Caramon sat there, his head in his hands, and wallowed in a heap of unfulfilled promises as he mulled over his most recent failures in his hungover mind.

It had been three days since he had passed out while telling stories late into the evening at the Inn of the Last Home. He had slept it off in the room occupied by the male members of Obsidian Fireforge's entourage. After that, the former warrior had vowed to himself that that was the end of it for good. No more drinking, no more lying and breaking Tika's heart. She deserved better than his occasional 'reward' for long-forgotten heroism or a toast to fond memories and lost friends. His wife deserved a husband, a friend, and the man she had fallen in love with.

Caramon told himself all this and more last night. He was convinced he could control himself; that he could say no. But it didn't go as planned.

The big man wanted to think he had learned his lesson and if he would have been able, he would take back the choices he made this past week. After all, waking up next to a slumbering minotaur was enough to startle five years off his life. He didn't want to repeat _that_ again any time soon! Not to mention the looks that Tika started giving him again...

No amount of apologizing had appeased Tika after that incident, though she had allowed him to return home the next day. The big man was grateful for that mercy, though the exception was he was not allowed back in their bedroom. So he had been sleeping in the chair in front of their fireplace ever since.

Tika had wanted proof he was willing to change, that he could again be the man she married.

Before that incident three days ago, Caramon had resolved he'd try harder, he _would_ do better. However, even the best intentions evaporate in the face of stories and toasts of liquor and yet again last night a new group of adventures had come through Solace. As a result, Caramon had to be carried home last night.

So much for control.

So much for his will to change...

Caramon groaned as he tried to ease the pounding in his temples with his fingers, working them into his scalp so hard he hoped the action might bore holes into his brain and release the ale demons within. His neck ached from sleeping in the chair for the past two nights and his eyes hurt from the bright morning sun streaming through the windows that all of a sudden suspiciously lacked curtains.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't his fault the new arrivals had heard tales of the Companions and had made it a point to meet him. They had then insisted on buying rounds for the whole inn in exchange for some war stories. Caramon, ever the one to please his customers, gave in wholeheartedly. After all, they paid in good coin and the list of things the inn needed for this spring's overflow of patrons was growing longer by the day.

At first, he had managed to turn down the offers to drink his share of ale, but that soon changed. It started with them convincing him to drink just one small glass of cheap, watered-down wine. But then all of Caramon's willpower flew out the window to land on the hard ground dozens of feet below.

He again looked at his wife and watched with blurry eyes as she furiously prepared their meal with all the intensity and focus of one going into battle.

“I'm sorry,” Caramon mumbled, burying his face in his hands.

 **SLAM** went the skillet again.

“Tika...”

“NO!” she exclaimed, whirling on him, her red curls flew around her face. She gripped the edge of her apron so hard her knuckles turned white. “I don't want to hear it right now. Just... just don't say anything else, Caramon. I'm too angry...” Her voice trailed off as she fought with keeping her emotions in check.

Caramon blinked at his wife and attempted to say something, anything to cool her temper. “I tried-”

“You _promised_ , Caramon!” Tika cut him off.

“I know.” He rubbed his eyes before forcing himself to meet her gaze again. The anger had cooled a bit, but the disappointment remained. That pitying look in her green eyes was dominant, but Caramon saw the unshed tears just below the surface, warring and trying to force their way out. But, he suddenly realized, Tika had long ago stopped crying about any of this. When had that happened?

As if to answer his silent question she said, “I'm not going through this again...” Her voice cracked at the end, those tears threatening to break past whatever walls she had built to keep herself together.

“It was just a few drinks,” Caramon tried to say.

“Ah-huh, sure,” Tika scowled and turned back to her cooking; savagely breaking more eggs and setting slices of bacon to fry as her temper flared again. “Is that why your new friends had to carry you in last night? Look at the floor!” she cried in exasperation. “Look at the muddy mess they made hauling you in here!”

Caramon glanced at the floor and noticed large, dried clumps of mud and grass stuck to the floor and rugs. He looked back at her but Tika had already returned to the cooking.

“You know this time of year is hard for me...” the big man said, his voice rough with lack of sleep.

“Is that your only excuse?” Tika asked, still not looking at him as she slammed down her utensils onto the wooden counter with a hollow **THUNK**. “Well it's hard for me too!” she exclaimed, suddenly storming past him and going to the cupboard to grab plates.

It was then that Caramon saw the picnic basket at the other edge of the counter, farthest away from where he sat at the table. His heart sank. He had completely forgotten that Tika wanted to have another family day today. But because he had come home so late last night, stewed to his eyebrows, he had only slept a few fitful hours before being woken by the sound of his angry wife starting their morning meal. Guilt and shame flooded him.

“I'm sorry...” Caramon tried the route of apologizing again, “We can still go today...” he mumbled, his red eyes locked on the basket.

“Forget it,” Tika said, coming back around after setting drinking glasses on the table and snatching the basket off the counter and tossing it under the work surface in front of her. “I didn't even bother to make anything since I saw the state you were in when I left the inn last night. I knew it was going to be more of the same.”

“I was just telling them stories-”

“We've been through this already,” Tika cut him off, still refusing to look at him while she continued cooking. “I won't go through this again, Caramon. I won't!” Her voice finally broke and he watched her dab at her eyes with her apron as loud thumps sounded from the upper level of their home.

As usual, the sound of small feet hitting the floor above their heads alerted the couple that Tanin and Sturm were awake. Caramon opened his mouth to say something more but wasn't able to get the words out before the sound of four running feet clamored down the wooden steps from the loft.

Tanin reached the bottom of the steps first and gave a triumphant “ROAR!” at the top of his lungs before darting to his place at the table next to his father. Sturm, who wasn't even a year younger than his brother, took the steps slower, plopping down each one with an obnoxiously loud **THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!** and somehow making the floorboards creak and groan as if an owlbear was jumping down them one at a time.

“Wait, Tanin!” the lad cried angrily as he hopped down each step. He hated to be left behind.

“I won!” the other boy taunted happily, his eyes glinting in anticipation for breakfast as he kicked at the rungs of his chair.

Tika continued to create such a cacophony with the pots and pans as she worked that the clamor would put to shame a gnomes onion peeler and window washer with built-in compass and automated tea kettle. Soon the sound of scraping against the skillet as Tika freed the eggs raked the insides of Caramon's skull as the sizzling bacon whistled like the imagined tea kettle. To add to it, the two lads started bickering about who won and who cheated at their usual morning contest of who made it to the table first.

“Boys...” Caramon said quietly, his voice lost in the din as his big hands did their best to loosen the pain in his head by massaging his pounding temples again.

“You didn't!” Sturm yelled back, now finally reaching the bottom of the steps and nearly tripping over the ragged blanket he insisted on taking everywhere with him. “You _pushed_ me! Dad, he pushed me!”

“Nuh-uh!!” Tanin yelled back, his voice echoing in the cavernous space inside Caramon's brain.

“Boys....” The pounding in Caramon's head was becoming unbearable, the smell of eggs and bacon was not agreeing with him. “Not now... just eat,” he said miserably.

Mercifully Tika finished scraping eggs off the skillet onto plates. Removing toasted bread from the warmers by the fire, she took the plates to the table and set one down in front of each child. Caramon was convinced that she was making sure the porcelain hit loud enough against the tables' surface to sound like a dwarf hammering at his forge.

“Liar!” screamed Sturm, ignoring his father and the breakfast in front of him. Instead, he was on the verge of frustrated tears; his round, freckled face was red, his bright eyes were wet.

The boys were five and four and got along the majority of the time. However, once in a while, the two of them got into nasty spats over the most mundane and ridiculous things. Today seemed like it was going to be one of those days and Caramon lowered his head onto his arms and braced himself for the tantrums he knew were coming.

The next few moments were a blur of high-pitched screams that quickly spun out of control as the small boys began to fight with one another. All Caramon saw was the haze of their red hair and blur of pale, scrawny arms as they scuffled with one another, grunting and yelling as they worked out their differences in the only way rambunctious lads could.

The noise and chaos in turn then woke their baby brother who quickly added his screams to the crescendo. Tika did nothing to stop the bickering nor soothe the crying baby as she finished up with the pots and pans, cleaning them in the basin of soapy water before the food stuck to the surfaces.

**THUD! THUD! SCREAM! SCRAPE! CRY!**

“ **STOP**!” Caramon roared, unable to handle another second of ruckus. His large fists slammed onto the surface of the table, bouncing the plates into the air and sending cups spilling. “I don't care what happened upstairs! I won't have you fighting at the table!” he growled menacingly at his wide-eyed boys, his face red and blotchy. “So _shut up_ and eat your breakfasts!”

Tanin and Sturm fell instantly silent; their greenish-hazel eyes were wide due to their father's sudden outburst. Caramon could be firm when needed, but he rarely had to lift his voice like this and never had he spoken to them so harshly. It didn't take long before their lips began to quiver and large, fat tears began spilling down their freckled faces.

“Caramon Majere!” Tika hissed at him as she scooped up the now screaming Palin from where he had been standing at the edge of the small cradle nearby, rocking back and forth and hollering his demand for comfort.

Caramon groaned again as the noise from before was now replaced with crying and sobbing. “Tika, I just-”

“NO!” she shouted at him to be heard over the boys. Her own eyes were now red-rimmed as she too fought her own wave of tears. Grabbing her husband by the scruff of his shirt she yanked him off his chair to his feet with surprising strength. “You will _not_ speak to them like that in the condition you are in!” she hissed under her breath. “Get out!” She pointed at the door.

“Tika!” Caramon exclaimed, numb as he stumbled to his feet. “What about breakfast?”

“There's food at the inn!” she replied. “I don't want to see you until you've sobered up! If you can even manage that...” Her voice finally cracked and the first tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away furiously, angry that it had fallen.

Caramon stared at her - at his wife and best friend. Tika was a strong woman, always had been, but as he looked at her now, there was that same pained look in her eyes that she used to give him those years ago when the dwarf spirits had ruled him. Pity and hurt echoed to him from her eyes and he knew that those days during their lives had nearly broken her.

He suddenly saw just how far he had fallen back if he was seeing that look again... If she was crying even after having no more tears to shed for him.

Caramon's blurry gaze then turned to his sons who were now both laying on the floor, blubbering. Unused to seeing their parents act like this to one another, they had no idea what was going on or what to do. So they wailed and hiccuped, their food forgotten as eggs ran off their plates to mix with the water and juice on the tabletop, making a gooey, congealed mess.

“I'm sorry...” Caramon mumbled uselessly. “Tika, just let me-”

“No,” Tika repeated a bit gentler, her hand on his arm, stopping him from helping her clean up the spilled food and water. “I'll get it. Just go, Caramon,” she said, turning her attention fully to baby Palin in her arms, bouncing him against her hip in an attempt to soothe him. “Get yourself together and we'll talk later. I can't do this with you right now.”

With that, Tika turned away from him, her full attention now on their crying children.

The big man stood there in the middle of his home, his family in tears around him. He wanted to cry himself, wanted to apologize and beg for his wife's forgiveness. He never meant to hurt anyone, the only thing he wanted was to have the rare chance to escape the suffocating squeeze of memories.

He knew that sometimes the drink made him say and do things he normally wouldn't. But he hadn't meant to raise his voice just now; the pain in his head didn't allow him any other option.

So how was he to blame for _this_?

How could these tears all be _his_ fault?

Tika didn't understand, she never did.

In that moment Caramon questioned if he had done as good a job as he thought he had in filling the hole inside him with a family of his own. None of them needed him, he realized as Tika dried the boys' tears and they in turn looked to her for comfort, leaving the father forgotten and alone. The boys were children and lacked comprehension of how cruel life was and, even after all these years, Tika didn't understand the pain in her husband's heart, the void left behind by Raistlin.

Caramon decided if sometimes he needed to dull that ache with something then who could blame him? If the drink made him lash out and upset the kids, how was it his fault?! No one around here gave him a shred of recognition for how hard things were.

Only the patrons in the inn did that. Only his new friends listened with sympathetic ears.

Caramon looked at his wife, at his family, as if seeing them for the first time. Perhaps he had been wrong. If, after all these years, Tika didn't understand or see how bad he hurt inside and still threw him out over such small outbursts, then what was the point?

Turning, Caramon stalked out of the house, slamming the door as he went. The force of it was so intense that down the hall, the arcane symbol on the locked door to the room with no occupant fell to the floor with a mournful clatter.

***

The former Hero of the Lance stumbled his way down the long walkway from his treetop home to the ground several dozen feet below.

Solace had once been a tree city, famed for its uniqueness. The huge vallenwoods, found only in this part of Krynn, grew to be massive in size. The town had never been a large place, not when compared to the sprawling cities such as Palanthas far to the north. It was also a plain place, homely and comfortable, not grand and breathtaking with ethereal beauty like the elven city of Qualinost to the south.

Tucked between the Sentinel Peaks, the northernmost range of the Khoralis Mountains, Solace typically went unnoticed by most of the world. However, travelers that did know of it used the city as a hub or wayside stop in going to the larger surrounding settlements such as Haven and the smaller port towns nearer the Straits of Schallsea.

A place of simple people with simple lives, Solace was a charming village hidden in the boughs of giant trees.

But even Caramon, as hungover as he was, still remembered how all of that had changed when the dragons came.

There were still signs of that horrible day, for scars both mental and physical marred not only the land, but also its people. The red dragons had come and burned or destroyed many of the famed trees, ripping the huge plants from the earth and using them to build siege engines and other machines of war. The reptilian beasts had also pulled several buildings from branches and lowered them to the ground for better access and use for the armies of draconians and other monster folk that fought for the Queen of Darkness and her Dragon Highlords.

Now, nearly six years after the war, the city was very different from the place Caramon had grown up in. The trees that had survived the dragon fire still bore scorch marks, as did the city square where the dragons immolated traitors and uncooperative slaves in order to strike fear into its remaining populace. Years of toil and hard work had saved many beloved trees, but far too many had been lost.

Caramon was reminded of this as he descended from his home, for great gaps existed between the massive trunks of the surviving trees. These empty spaces on the ground were filled with new homes and businesses as the people of Solace – who once found safety in their beloved trees – knew that nothing could save them now that dragons had returned to the world. Best be on the ground, able to run and try to escape, then be stuck in a flaming tree – that was the general consensus now. Because of this, Tika and Caramon were amongst the minority in the population willing to rebuild in the trees.

Where once all of the trees had been interconnected with grand walkways, now only a few of them spanned the treetops to connect the sparse dwellings above. Where once sat only a few homes or shops too dangerous to be up in a tree (such as the smithy of Flint Fireforge), now the ground along the dirt road under the great branches was lined with all sorts of buildings.

The Inn of the Last Home had been one of the buildings that the dragons had torn from the trees to make more accessible to the armies. But that hadn't lasted long, especially when Caramon and Tika had returned home. The famed inn was one of the first to return to the trees and Caramon had been one of its most valuable in rebuilding, not only the inn, but much of the town.

Stumbling to the bottom of the walkway, Caramon swayed on his unsteady feet. His head was pounding and the smell of cooked eggs had made him nauseous. Darting to a shadowed corner near a crook in his tree, the large man rid himself of anything that was in his stomach.

Feeling better, he made his way to one of the watering wells just down the street, purposefully going out of his way to avoid walking near Weird Meggin's house. He had never told Tika why he wanted to keep an eye on the old crone. If she knew that she had been one of Raistlin's few true friends in his young life, as well as one of his respected teachers, Tika would probably insist on moving.

The woman was growing old and lived alone (with the exception of her large wolf companion and other various woodland critters that could be glimpsed running in and out of her windows) and as such, she had no one to care for her or watch over her as she aged. Caramon was well aware of how his brother respected the old woman. He remembered the countless times Raistlin would go to her house to learn and help her with her garden. Meggin had taught his twin much and Raistlin had used his skills to help many throughout the years. Caramon recalled with an ache in his heart how his frail twin and the old woman had battled the plague years ago when they were teens.

Despite this, Caramon had never much liked her, for she was strange and foreign to him, her views and methods odder than the magic his twin practiced. She had earned the name 'Weird' Meggin for a reason and if he'd be honest, Caramon had grown up convinced she was some kind of hedge witch. Everyone in Solace knew that she was half-mad, or by now completely bonkers, for finding her talking to trees and creatures was a common occurrence in the town. Often one would see her digging around and foraging strange ingredients for her potions and other 'medicines' or carrying home some poor injured creature to 'heal'. The big man suspected that most of what she foraged was for her own 'medicinal' purposes and most of the animals she brought home to 'help' probably ended up in her stomach.

But whether or not everything she did was sane or not, the truth was that her skills in herb lore and natural medicines were renowned. No one could deny that the woman had saved or helped many citizens throughout the years with her tinctures, teas, and potions. And Caramon knew that Raistlin would be displeased if he would find out the woman had been shunned or mistreated or left to die alone in some hovel in the shady side of town. So early on when the town was being rebuilt, Caramon had gone to the woman and offered her the house Tika and he had been staying in while their own home was being built in the branches above. Now she lived below them and he, like a good neighbor, made sure to keep tabs on her well-being.

But he didn't try very hard.

Reaching the well, Caramon pulled up a bucket from the chilly depths and he proceeded to dump the whole thing over his head, drenching himself and shocking his senses back from the haze of liquor. Shaking out his long hair, he wrung the excess water from it and flipped it back over his shoulder to dry. As he did he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rippling surface inside the well.

Caramon was a handsome man and he knew it. Tall and broad-shouldered, the older twin's features were sharp and strong, if not a bit rounded these days. Throughout his life, his good looks had gained him no end of attention and physical partners. Caramon had always been proud of his features, though he seemed to have been able to keep up with them in the past better than he could now. The years of an easygoing life had softened the cords of muscle and had covered them in layers of comfortable padding. His long, waving locks of hair were far longer now and hadn't seen a comb in days much less a good washing. His usually shorn face was covered with the thick stubble that spoke of several days neglect.

His eyes, the gentle hazel-brown that had smote the hearts of many a fair maiden, were no longer as bright as they once were. Dulled now by the years and clouded at this moment by his ale-induced hangover, they were red-rimmed and sunken; shadowed by these many recent sleepless nights.

Caramon grunted at his reflection and self-consciously straightened his wrinkled tunic. It was a fine garment, for the Majere family in Solace were fortunate to lead prosperous, respected lives. But now it was drenched and clung to his bulging form in unflattering ways. After several minutes of attempting to smooth out his appearance, the big man gave up with a shrug. He didn't care, hadn't cared for a good long while, and now Caramon found that he couldn't be bothered to address his shabby appearance.

Continuing through the town the former warrior made his way toward the Inn of the Last Home. The planned family day was in shambles and Caramon knew that he wasn't going to be allowed to partake in it any time soon so he figured he might as well work his frustrations (and hangover) away.

He rounded the corner only to find Obsidian and her gang at the bottom of the ramp that led up to the inn. They each had their packs on and Pentrian the kender held a map in his small hands, his top knot waving back and forth as he appeared to be arguing with the minotaur over something.

Obsidian looked up at that moment and saw the inn keep standing there. The dwarf woman waved him over with a large hand.

“Are you leaving?” was all Caramon could think to ask. The words felt stupid coming out of his mouth, for it was obvious to a blind gully dwarf that they were indeed heading out.

“Aye, laddie, we be going back on the road today,” Obsidian replied. “It best be time we head out on our quest.”

“I thought you were staying until Spring Dawning,” he said, confused.

“Aye, we _were_ ,” Obsidian admitted as she ran her hand over her freshly braided whiskers, “but we have a new lead as to where we may be findin' pieces o' Uncle Flint's Axe.” Her dark eyes glittered hungrily. “The weather seems ta be holdin' and so we thought we'd head out early. Mayhaps we'll make it back fer the Festival. If all goes well that is.” She shrugged.

“But it's what...” Caramon swayed a bit as he tried to count on his fingers the days until the festival, “three weeks away? Four?” he concluded dubiously as he hazily eyed each member in turn. “I doubt you'll finish your quest and get back by then...”

Obsidian waved his fears off and turned to her companions. “Figure out the plan,” she pointed at the minotaur before shifting to the kender. “An' you figure out the route! Imma go have a word with our gracious host before we head out.”

Pentrian nodded and pulled out another map from one of his pouches before plopping to the ground, forcing the minotaur and the others to join him. It would have been comical, seeing a kender, minotaur, elf, and several humans all in the dirt staring at and arguing over maps. But Caramon was in no mood to laugh right now as the frawl grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from her group.

Obsidian led Caramon back the way he had just come which, oddly to her, was in the opposite direction of his home. Coming to stop next to the town's grocer, the dwarf pulled him off to the side next to the fence that surrounded the cheery building. Chickens and small sheep clucked and bleated at them from within the pen, happy and content, but the look on the dwarf's face told the big man that he was about to get an ear full.

“You were drinkin' last night again,” Obsidian said flatly. Her dark eyes held him trapped.

Caramon went to open his mouth but she held up a thick hand to halt him.

“I don't want yer explanations nor excuses,” she said. She eyed him up and down and gave a great sigh, her hands on her stocky hips. “Yer a right mess, ya know that, Majere?” she declared with a shake of her head.

Again Caramon went to say something, anything to try to save the remnants of his dignity but she once more cut him off.

“Tika told me,” she explained. “She told me everything.”

Caramon stood there, his mouth hanging open for several moments before he snapped it shut, his face flushing. “I don't... I don't know what you're talking about,” he said lamely. “I just drink too much sometimes, that's all...” His words trailed off under the dwarf's pitying gaze.

“She told me of the War, of the nightmares,” Obsidian began and closed the space between them to rest her hand on his forearm. “And she told me of yer twin and the pain in yer heart you try to drown with the ale.” She patted his arm gently and nodded when his eyes widened, his face now pale.

“It's alright, laddie,” she said. “Tis nothing ta be ashamed of. War is hard, there be no doubt about that. But those horrors pale when compared ta losin' family. I lost me father at the Battle of Hillhome,” she explained, her eyes softening. “Not ta mention the friends and neighbors who fell that day and on the days since, like Uncle Flint. Nothing brings them back. Not even getting lost in things that dull the pain. But it is easy to think it helps.”

“Raistlin isn't dead,” Caramon heard himself say before he realized he had said it.

Obsidian nodded. “Aye, and that makes it worse, don't it.” She didn't ask it, just acknowledged it as fact.

Caramon looked down at the much shorter female and found himself locked in her dark eyes, eyes that reminded him of his lost mentor. He saw pity there but also an understanding that Tika lacked and he wondered how many drunks Obsidian had dealt with in her lifetime. Dwarves were known to be heavy drinkers but ale and spirits were part of their culture. So much so that the big man had never even considered that the stout, hardy race could ever even struggle with such issues. If they did, they must keep it to themselves.

He nodded to her statement but said nothing, unable to cobble together anything to say.

“Mourn him,” the frawl said, seeing the hollow look in his eyes that still remained after all these years. “Though yer brother isn't dead, mourn what ye lost. I cannot grasp the bond between twins but me guessin' it run deep, soul-deep, if ya get me meanin'.”

“I do mourn him...”

“I know,” she squeezed his arm sympathetically. “But ya must move on at some point, Caramon Majere. Ye have a family now. A wife and children who need you and -”

“They don't need me,” he replied darkly and pulled his arm away from her. “Raistlin needs me.”

Obsidian made a show of looking around before resting her dark eyes back on him. “I see no dark wizard standing 'round or swooning in the streets, crying fer aid,” she said.

“That's not what I mean,” he glowered back.

She nodded. “Aye, I know. The nightmares...”

Caramon's shoulders sagged and he rested his head in his hands. “He screams sometimes, Obsidian. That's all I can hear...”

“And the liquor quiets the screams?”

Her question sent a jolt through him and he started. Lowering his hands he met her eyes again. “No,” he answered.

“So you don't need that then,” she said with a shrug. “The liquor isn't helping, so stop it.”

“It's not that easy...”

“Isn't it?”

Caramon sighed in irritation. “You don't understand,” he grumbled and ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously. “No one understands.” He went to walk away but the dwarf caught hold of his arm and held him back with surprising strength.

“Nay, I don't understand,” Obsidian agreed. “For we all, each of us, no matter our race, must deal with our pain in our own ways. But if mournin' him brings ya ta the drink then mayhaps ye need ta celebrate his life,” she suggested. “Same as ye celebrate Uncle Flint's and yer knight friend, Sturm Brightblade.” Caramon hadn't turned to look at her but she knew she had his attention by the slight cock to his head. “Honor him, remember him. Not as ye last saw him, but as the man you knew and loved before all the darkness descended to tear the two of you apart, fer that is the man who died even if your twin still breaths.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Caramon asked, still not meeting the dwarf's gaze.

“That'd be up to you,” she answered with another shrug. “We Fireforges, why we tell stories ta keep memories alive.” She chuckled then. “We go on half-arsed adventures ta reclaim lost relics that probably don't even exist. But we move on, Caramon. That is the most important step. You cannot be livin' life under the yoke of pain and the questions of 'what if'. If we do that, we lose ourselves. We lose those around us.”

“Tell stories...” Caramon scoffed. “To who? Stories just lead to drinking and drinking just makes things worse.”

“Ye have three wee ones at home,” Obsidian suggested. “Do they know of their uncle? Do you speak of him to them? If they be drinkin' and offerin' you a sip then perhaps we need to be havin' a totally different conversation.”

This made the big man chuckle and he wiped his hand across his face before he turned to finally meet her gaze. “You really think that would help?” he asked skeptically.

Obsidian patted his hand in hers. “Would you like to share good stories of your twin with them?”

A smile flitted across his face only to disappear. “Yeah, if Tika lets me. No one liked Raistlin... especially after all the things he did, after all the people he hurt...”

“Then don't tell of _that_ Raistlin. Tell of the one _you_ loved, of the one _you_ remember,” she said and with each 'you' she poked him firmly in the chest with a thick finger. “Start small,” she said, her voice soft again. “Remember little things from when the two of ya were lads. Yer boys are gettin' big, they're able ta understand stories that they can relate to.”

“But Tika...”

“'But Tika' what?” the frawl asked, her hands on her hips as she waited for his excuse.

“She fears that telling them will make them be like him, especially Palin,” Caramon said in a rush. “There's something about him. Something that speaks of magic. He's got the gift, Obsidian, I feel it in my bones...”

“Ah.” Obsidian tugged at her whiskers for a moment. This wasn't an excuse she had expected. “Do you think this could happen? That he'll walk the road of the Uncle?”

“I don't know...” Caramon said, his voice on the verge of breaking. “I didn't think Raistlin would fall to evil, but he did. Somewhere, I failed him and-”

Obsidian's hand was again on his arm and she gave him a hard squeeze. “You didn't fail him,” she said softly. “He made his choice. Even if it weren't the one ye would've made fer him, you must accept it. The past is done, so let it go.” She saw the former warrior about to argue so she cut him off with: “If ye be failin' anyone it's yer family _right now_ and yer only failin' them by stayin' on the path you currently walk, Caramon Majere.”

Caramon shuddered, his breath caught in his throat. “I am losing them... aren't I?” he said, his eyes misting over. “I haven't been deserving of them... that's why they turn to each other and not to me...” he said, his voice choking.

Gently the dwarf pulled the large human down to her height. “I be seein' you need ta care for people, it's yer nature. Look to here an' now, not what is past. Ye still have them. It's not too late.”

Caramon, on his knees, soon found himself wrapped in the dwarf's arms. She patted him on the back as tears fell from his bloodshot eyes while he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. The dwarf smelled of leather and metal and of the deep, dark earth. The scent again made him think of Flint and he cried all the harder.

“There, there,” Obsidian soothed him and after a few minutes she pulled away. “The sheep are starin' at us.”

Caramon wiped his nose with his sleeve and saw that indeed, they had an audience of sheep all standing next to the fence, chewing tufts of green grass and watching them with great big eyes. He gave a chuckle as he dried his face. “Thanks, Obsidian,” he said through a thick throat. “I'll think on what you said.”

“Aye, ye do that!” she said and helped him to his feet. “Just don't be tellin' anyone that a Fireforge let ye cry on her shoulder! Poor Uncle Flint must be stompin' his feet before Reorx's forge seein' me get all sentimental.”

Again Caramon laughed, feeling better. “I miss Flint too,” he added. “But you're right. Maybe I need to be thinking of all the good things about Raistlin like we do with Flint and Sturm and everyone else. I need to be remembering all the times when we were brothers, _true_ brothers. Even though in the end he was lost to me, still is, I can't let those last dark months ruin years of life together. He made his choice and I can't help him in whatever he may be facing...” Caramon heaved a great lungful of crisp morning air to clear his head. “People may hate him and they have a right to, for the most part, but I don't want my boys to grow up thinking their Uncle is some evil monster. They need to know the truth. And only I can give them that...”

“That's the spirit,” Obsidian agreed and clapped her hand on his arm again.

“Thanks,” the big man said sheepishly. “I feel better. I really do.”

“Good,” she smiled up at him before looking off into the distance to see that her companions were again all standing, their packs on their shoulders, waiting for her.

“You really need to leave?” he asked.

“Aye,” she nodded. “As the kender say, I got this itch in my feet and the road won't be gettin' any shorter.”

“Very well,” Caramon said and held his hand out. “You'll come back this way once you've finished your quest?”

Obsidian took his hand and shook it. “If we be able to, aye. We'll return ta check on ya. Uncle Flint would like that.”

Caramon smiled. “He would indeed. Goodbye, Obsidian, until we see each other again.”

The dwarf gave a curt nod and began to head back the way they had come. She took a few steps only to halt as if considering something. Taking one more step she paused and shook her head before turning around while fishing in a pouch on her belt.

“Here,” she said, holding her closed hand out to Caramon. “Uncle Flint left my sister and I lots 'o toys growing up. I want you ta have this, just in case our paths don't cross for a while. Let it remind you of me and of him, and hopefully, you'll be hearin' our voices ta get you on the right path if ye be strayin'.” With that, she dropped something in his open palm and without waiting for Caramon to say anything, Obsidian Fireforge walked away.

Caramon Majere didn't see her go; barely recalled the dwarf's parting words. All the breath left his body, his knees were weak but somehow he managed to stay upright as he stared in shock at the trinket she had given him.

In Caramon's big palm rested a small carved rabbit made of black obsidian.

It was staring up at him with two beady eyes made of yellow citrine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/1/20: I never thought the little carved rabbit in Part 1 would ever play a bigger role in tying the twins together. But that's what is fun about writing, you never know what will develop! I hope the little details are fun for you readers as much as they are for me.  
> Anyway, as always thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. As usual the collage is from Pinterest pics, but also I used photos of Yaroslav Bayarunas and Rostislav Kolpakov as Raistlin and Caramon from the Russian Musical (seriously if you've never watched it, DO IT! I'm more than happy to send links your way lol!)


	20. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it was bound to happen at some point. Shall we see what Yurielle has been up to?  
> NSFW chapter ahoy!

Raistlin lost track of time as he worked in the laboratory, sorting the Lich's vast collection of books and items. The new shelves that he had ordered sat empty in the corners, not yet placed where he wanted them. The Archmage was tired from this afternoon's emotional struggles and didn't feel the need to use his magic to move them, so for now he let them be. In the meantime, he stacked the volumes he brought with in their appropriate groupings upon the large stone worktable in the center of the vast room, the magical items he placed in rows along its edge. Once done with that he found himself tidying up the place more, dusting shelves and doing things that usually wouldn't be worthy of his time. But Raistlin wanted to keep his mind focused least he begin to dwell on all the things plaguing him, not to mention the fact that he needed to keep himself busy until either Yurielle came back or he'd make the attempt to contact her or go find her.

Located near the top of the Tower, this room was Raistlin's private laboratory, though it had once served as the Tower's main laboratory in years long past. Filled with items both powerful and dangerous (as well as forbidden and thought long lost) Raistlin was not going to allow anyone but the other Heads of the Orders enter. He trusted no one else but those chosen to lead and even then, he had his reservations.

If Wayreth only knew the sort of things Raistlin had within this Tower, they perhaps would have more reservations in allowing him to be Head of its council. There were things within this room especially, besides the tomes of Fistandantilus, that could spell doom if used improperly...

The Archmage's eyes flicked over to the corner of the room where a dark purple curtain hung and had done so several times since his arrival today. Behind the heavy fabric that was enchanted with powerful magic stood the famed portal to the Abyss - an item beyond dangerous.

The image of his alternate self in the other timeline from Yurielle's vision entered Raistlin's mind as he stared at the unmoving purple veil separating him from the Portal. He had used that item on that timeline to enter the Abyss; had opened the forbidden door and walked into a realm meant only for the Queen of Darkness and her hellish minions. He had used and twisted the love of a Revered Daughter of Paladine to walk the ultimate path of darkness.

That version of Raistlin Majere -one fully combined and tainted with Fistandantilus- had walked in and done battle on that plane, weakening Takhisis and luring out into the physical world to destroy her. Raistlin saw in his mind's eye, the wild and savage magestorms that ravaged the world upon her death. He recalled these memories from a vision that he would not allow to come to pass on this timeline.

The Archmage turned to leave, that other timeline didn't matter anymore.

Only saving and maintaining this one did.

Sensing that it was well past the evening meal, Raistlin exited the laboratory to go in search of his beloved. If she hadn't returned yet then he was prepared to go out into Palanthas to find her. Free will or no, Yurielle should have come back by now and if she hadn't, Raistlin felt it was well within his right as Highmage of the Tower to go look for his underlings.

Giving an irritated sigh, Raistlin magically sealed shut the laboratory again, ensuring that no one could enter and take advantage of the dark secrets hidden inside without him knowing. He added more magic to it than he had used in the days since Wayreth, just to prove to himself that he could. He gave a satisfied nod once finished; his magic was still with him, still appeared to be as strong as before.

The relief of this slow realization was like a weight off his shoulders. He'd continue to test his skills in the days to come, but right now he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Weary from his day of learning about his skin and sorting through books and items, Raistlin walked down the steps instead of using magic; knowing that if the women weren't back he'd have to use the last of it to teleport out to find them.

The Archmage was more tired than he realized when he came to the door of his study, for he leaned heavily on its frame for a moment to catch his breath; still unused to being able to push his body this far due to his lungs feeling better. Opening the door, he found that his study appeared empty except for the piles of books and items that he hadn't moved yet.

“Yurielle?” he called as he scanned the room. His eyes fell on the bedroom door where a sliver of soft light glowed beneath the heavy wood.

He knew he hadn't left any lights on when he left.

“Yurielle?” he called again. “We need to talk.” Leaving his Staff by they door he entered the silent room and waited for any reply before finally crossing the space. The magical orbs around the room gently lit as he passed them. “I have something... to... tell...” Raistlin's voice trailed off.

He halted near his desk, stunned to silence as a long, lean leg suddenly appeared from the cracked doorway to his bedchambers. Soon a body followed to stand against the frame, leaning at an angle that only served to accentuate every curve of her body.

Yurielle stood there, a coy smile on her face, but Raistlin hardly noticed the look that flamed in her eyes as his own roamed up her body.

“Yuri... what..?” he stammered. “What are you _wearing_?”

Her giggle pulled his eyes to her face as she detached herself from the door and sauntered over to him, her movements slow and sensual. “Do you like it?” she asked shyly as she came to stand before him.

Raistlin could only nod dumbly, for Yurielle was clad in the sheerest, silkiest, and scantiest item of clothing that the Archmage had ever seen. If one could even call it clothing!

A pleasant shade of lavender, the small corset around Yurielle's chest was edged in layers of soft lace, barely concealing the curves of her breasts. Ribbons of silver tied the front shut, their length drawing his eyes down to the apex between her legs were more lace and silk cunningly gave slight hints at what lay beneath without revealing too much. Over the whole of her body she wore what _could_ be called a robe, except that it was sheer and see-through, glittering here and there with silver threads to make it shine when she moved.

“Good,” she purred, coming close to him and pressing her hands against his chest. “I was hoping that you'd like it.”

Raistlin blinked, feeling all the blood rush to his face (and elsewhere!) he said without thinking, “What in the world is on your face?”

Again Yurielle laughed and fluttered her eyelashes at him. Somehow they seemed thicker to the Archmage - black and curled. Her deep blue eyes stood out more as they were now rimmed in dark kohl and soft shades of shimmering mica. She smiled at him, her lips redder than he had ever seen them.

“It's called makeup, Raistlin! Haven't you seen it before?”

“Of course,” he said, taking in her face. “But never on you...” Her hair too had been curled in large ringlets and coiffed artfully around her head. Long soft strands hung down to frame her face with auburn and gold, reminding Raistlin yet again of vallenwoods in autumn bloom. Her hair fell past her face, down her shoulders to bounce teasingly in front of her breasts. The contrast of auburn against the pale colors of her skin and outfit was a feast of shades and textures to the Archmage's cursed vision.

Yurielle smiled again, her dimples were deep, her face lighting up at the captivated look in his eyes. “I think it completes the outfit,” she said. “Don't you think so?” she asked and gave a long, slow spin in front of him, the silver ribbons and threads glimmering pleasantly in the light of the setting sun behind her, her silhouette doing that thing to Raistlin that left him unable to do anything but admire her lithe form.

Raistlin gulped as he viewed her outfit (or lack thereof!) in its total splendor. “I...” he felt himself blush, his mouth falling open when he saw that there was really nothing to the back of her small clothes. The layers of lace over her rear was cut into the shape of a heart, exposing the upper curve of her soft cheeks to him. Ribbons held the small garment in place at each hip, their short lengths dangled down along her lean thighs. He watched, stunned, as Yurielle completed her slow spin and his eyes now fell on the mound of her breasts directly in front of him, pushed up and straining against the lace along the top of the small corset, the upper edges of her nipples could be glimpsed this close up - but barely. As usual, the necklace he gave her was smothered in her bosom, lost in soft flesh that he dear wished to get lost in himself.

“Eyes up here, Archmage!” Yurielle laughed playfully, clearly enjoying his reaction.

Slowly Raistlin looked back up into her face. “You're beautiful.” Was all he managed to say.

He watched as Yurielle blushed in the way she always did when he praised her. No matter how often she exposed herself to him, she had retained a sliver of chaste innocence that Raistlin still found endearing.

“Is this what you were up to today?” he suddenly asked, everything clicking together.

Her coy smile returned and unable to keep the mischief off her face, she offered him a playful wink. “Jenna knows the best boutiques in all of Palanthas. Wouldn't you agree?”

Raistlin chuckled and tentatively reached a hand out to touch her side in an attempt to see if the sheer fabric felt as soft as it looked.

Dark _Abyss_ , it was!

“Figures she'd put you up to this. How much lighter is my coin purse?” he asked, taking in how well made and obviously expensive this tiny garment was, not to mention her painted face and styled hair. He had no knowledge of the cost of such things, but if he were to guess, Raistlin figured that Yurielle had spent several small piles of gold (if not many steel pieces) on all this!

“That's _my_ secret, Archmage,” she said, still grinning playfully. “Besides, I have my own money, thank you very much!”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Somehow the smirk she gave him was even more mischievous than the previous one. She clearly had put a lot of plans into motion and could barely contain herself. “Either case, I'll let you be the judge if it was worth it or not... Come with me, I have more to show you!”

“ _More_?!” he asked incredulously as she took his hand and gently tugged him along towards the bedroom.

Yurielle's grip tightened on his hand as she looked at him over her shoulder. “ _Much_ more!”

“Gods help me,” Raistlin whispered out of habit but in truth, his heart was hammering in his chest with excitement and anticipation as she led him into the other room. As they walked, his eyes locked on the gentle sway of her half exposed rear in front of him.

Gods of Lust! Raistlin Majere had never thought that something so innocuous and frilly as lace could be so appealing! Instantly the sight of her body, teased behind these cunning layers, rose a fire in him that left him salivating.

Forgetting everything that had happened today - his mood, his anxiety attack, his skin, _everything_ – Raistlin paused, awestruck, in the doorway when Yurielle released his hand.

Somehow his eyes managed to leave the beautiful spectacle of her appearance to take in what she had done to their space. Gently glowing orbs rested in new spots around the room, softening the usually dark areas yet not overly illuminating it as a whole. The fire was low and warm and she had added something to it that gave the flames a gentle pink hue as it burned. The room smelled slightly of lavender and roses and it didn't take Raistlin long to spy flower petals of white and pink scattered across the surface of the dark cover on their bed. The doorway to the bath was also open and he noticed a trail of flower petals leading there. A warm glow shone with promises of other surprises beyond.

“Come here,” she commanded, her voice pulling him out of his stupor.

Raistlin took her outstretched hand and let her pull him to the edge of the bed. Now that he was closer, he saw more items laying scattered on its surface. His mouth, if possible, gaped wider at the sight of long feathers and lengths of silken shawls and cords.

“Yuri, what....?” His voice cut off as she started to undo the front of his robes.

She giggled again, albeit a bit shy and hesitant. “I thought we'd try something new tonight...” she trailed off nervously as she pulled his belt from his waist and opened his robe.

Raistlin's gaze returned to her face. She was chewing her bottom lip. “New?”

Yurielle nodded and somehow her skin went redder as her long fingers worked slowly at loosening his clothes.

Dumbstruck, Raistlin let Yurielle undress him. First, she removed his robe, then his tunic. With shy reverence, she loosened his pants and for the first time looked up into his face. Her dark eyes were ablaze with desire and need and secrets of whatever she had planned for him.

“If you want to that is...” she whispered, uncertain.

Trapped under her power, Raistlin could only nod.

Unceremoniously she released his trousers and they fell from his slender frame. Quickly his small clothes followed, his golden member coming free.

“Good.” She nodded with an approving smile, seeming relieved at his apparent eagerness. “Come here,” she commanded again as she took hold of his arms before angling him closer to the bed. It was awkward going, for in her haste to get his pants off, Yurielle suddenly realized that Raistlin was still wearing his boots, his trousers tangling around his ankles!

“Oops,” she said and laughed as she pushed him down to sit on the bed. “Sorry, I nearly tripped you!” She knelt down and removed his boots one by one, her dark eyes never leaving his.

Raistlin just smiled and shrugged. “I wasn't going to complain,” he said as he watched her remove his footwear then his pants. His breath hitched as she planted light kisses along his calves as she worked. Once his legs were free, she tossed everything to the side before joining him on the bed. She leaned close and kissed him softly and Raistlin tasted whatever she had used to tint her lips. Whatever it was reminded him of a mixture of berries and flowers.

“You've seemed tense these last days, Raistlin,” Yurielle said gently as she drew away before Raistlin could wrap his arms around her. “Let's start with a massage, shall we?” she asked with a smile to his slight huff of disappointment but the glint in his eyes told her of his approval of the idea. Carefully Yurielle gathered his long hair to the side and took a bit of cord to tie it up out of the way. That done, she grabbed a small bottle of slightly colored liquid from the side table.

Raistlin, his eyes going from watching Yurielle lather her palms with the scented oil to the feathers and silks on the edge of the bed then back to her. “What else do you have planned for me, my sweet Yurielle?” he asked with a curious arch of his brow.

Again Yurielle chewed on her lower lip before answering and Raistlin felt his heart rate spike at her uncharacteristic nervousness, for she hadn't been this shy even the first time they made love.

Whatever she had planned, she seemed either hesitant that he wouldn't approve or nervous for his reaction. His eyes again darted to the items scattered across the bed. He could guess at their purpose, for he had spent many nights in the company of soldiers and other males who liked to boast of their nightly encounters with well trained women in such arts. Even though Raistlin tried to ignore them, he occasionally caught more than one description that sent the imagination reeling. He swallowed hard, his heart in his throat as he returned his gaze to Yurielle knowing how those soldiers had easily spent a weeks pay or more for such company, but here his beloved was planning her own experience with him.

“Nothing _too_ painful.” Yurielle grinned at the look that covered her lover's face, a mixture of surprise and unbridled anticipation. “Here, let me get closer,” she said softly as she moved to kneel behind him. Once in place, she began to rub the warm oil onto his shoulders.

Raistlin gave an appreciative sigh as her slender fingers worked at his tight neck, shoulders, and upper back. He loved her touch, loved it when she lavished her attention solely on him. And though he wanted very much to ease the burn in his loins, a massage from Yurielle was not something to pass up.

“You've been working too hard again,” she scolded gently. “I can feel your stress, Raistlin,” she added as she found a particularly tight bunch of muscles and firmly began to work at them, coaxing them to release.

Again Raistlin groaned from her caress, feeling the tensions he had been carrying around these past days slowly melt under her skilled hands. It was peaceful in this room, immeasurably more now that Yurielle had returned. The warmth of her presence, like soft sunshine or a warm embrace, radiated from her and filled the room as palpable as the soft magical light illuminating the space and Raistlin basked in it, basked in her.

“What did you have to tell me?” she asked suddenly, pulling him from his musing.

“Huh?” he replied in a stupor.

“You said you wanted to talk about something earlier,” she said as she moved to work on his upper arms. “When you entered the study, you called out to me.”

Content and aroused, his senses lost in her touch, Raistlin only shrugged. “I don't remember,” he mumbled, turning with her as Yurielle guided him to lay down on the bed.

“Oh?” she arched an eyebrow at him while leaning over his body to massage his chest and shoulders with her hands, kneading the muscles there until he was just a pile of pliable tissue and bones.

Raistlin shrugged again and ran a hand over the silky smooth arm of her sheer robe that draped across him. Following the fabric, he ran his fingertips along her arm and with his own sneaky maneuver, pulled his lover down to his mouth.

Yurielle laughed and obliged to his not so subtle move. Kissing him deeply she ran her tongue along his lips and nipped them quickly before drawing back away.

“Tease,” Raistlin huffed, his voice husky.

“What's the hurry?” she asked coyly. “We have all the time in the world. I'd like to savor this, Raistlin. We have much to celebrate,” Yurielle added as she took hold of one of the silk scarves. “Close your eyes. I'm going to put this on you.”

Raistlin did the opposite. Instead, those golden orbs widened. “What are you going to do to me while I'm blind?!”

She grinned at him from behind the silk scarf, her eyes alight with some new knowledge and insidious plan. “Oh, nothing you need to worry over, Archmage. Now, close your eyes and let me blindfold you!”

“Yurielle!” Raistlin chuckled as she pounced at him, pinning him down. “But... I like looking at you,” he pouted as she managed to get the scarf around his face and hastily started tying it in place.

“I know,” she whispered in his ear. “But, according to Jenna, being blindfolded heightens the _other_ senses,” she said with a gentle nip on the edge of his neck where it met his shoulder.

“You've been hanging out too much with that red-robe,” he said but allowed Yurielle to do as she pleased. His curiosity was far greater than his sense of caution at the moment to not let her have her way and the sound of her answering giggle only made him grin in anticipation of finding out what she had in store for him.

“Oh, you just wait, Majere,” came her voice from the other side of him making him turn that way.

Suddenly, the soft tickle of something along Raistlin's other side made him gasp loudly. “Yuri!” he exclaimed and jumped involuntarily, nearly throwing himself off the bed.

“Hold still!” she squealed with laughter, highly amused. “You'll get used to it in a moment. But then again, maybe _you_ won't, Archmage.”

Raistlin nearly bit his tongue trying not to react as the tickling sensation almost drove him crazy. “You said it wasn't going to be painful,” he grunted, almost giving in to laughter.

“Don't they say that pain _is_ pleasure?” she whispered next to him, making him jerk in surprise that she had shifted positions again without him realizing it. “Now, hold still!”

Doing as he was told, Raistlin held in place as Yurielle ran the soft edge of the feather along his body. Up and down his chest she twirled it, varying the pressure. Sometimes it tickled, sometimes it was so soft he barely felt it.

Raistlin had to admit, it did feel pleasant as she ran it lower and lower, teasingly closer to his waiting groin. She got close to the base of him before she drew it away and started again on his upper body, this time using the sharper edge of the feather, making him squirm.

“You're so ticklish!” she exclaimed, running her hand along his thigh as he fought back reactions that would cause him to laugh.

If Raistlin replied, he'd lose control, so hard was he holding in the results of the way she made the feather touch certain parts of him. Clearly Yurielle was having far too much fun with this as she barely ran her palm along his member, making him twitch and groan. Not expecting her hand there, Raistlin jerked again, his own hand going to try and grab her as she pulled away just as suddenly. He didn't want her to stop touching him!

“Too slow, Archmage!” she sang at him, easily dodging his blind grasp.

Raistlin huffed and resumed laying still on the bed as Yurielle continued to run the feather along his body. Once in a while she'd touch him with her hands or run a fingernail along his skin to contrast the softness of the feather. She had been right, soon each touch was like flame along his flesh and Raistlin ached in between each caress that got closer and closer to his waiting member.

It was agony!

“Yurielle...” he groaned, his hand now trying to touch himself as she continued to deny him.

“Don't make me tie you down, Archmage!” her voice sounded on the other side of him.

Raistlin chuckled. “Is that what the cord is for?” he asked, turning his covered face in the direction he last heard her.

“Yup,” she whispered by his ear now, making him gasp when she gently bit it again. She was everywhere it seemed to him! But somehow Raistlin managed to catch her before she drew away.

“Are you a minx or a succubus now?” he asked, pulling her back down to him and clumsily finding her mouth as she laughed.

Yurielle put up little resistance when Raistlin rolled them over. Pulling the blindfold off himself he looked down at her flushed face. He paused, astounded at how truly beautiful she was sprawled out below him, bathed in soft magical light and framed by rose petals.

“What?” she asked when he only gaped at her.

“You're stunning, Yurielle,” he said, gently running his fingers through one of the long curls of hair that had fallen across her chest. Her dark eyes were bright, their pupils swallowing the blue and her cheeks were flushed pink, her rosy lips begging to be devoured. Her body was tangled in the long silk robe but the front of it was open, her bosom heaving against the corset that seemed about ready to burst from her heavy breathing.

“Simply perfect.” He leaned down and kissed her again.

Yurielle groaned against his mouth as he ran a hand down her side to her thighs, feeling the softness of the lingerie under his fingers. “You're all wrapped up and cocooned like a butterfly,” he murmured and tugged at the sheer robe. “Shall I free you?”

“Please,” she whispered softly. “Though,” she added after a moment's thought, “I'd really appreciate it if you didn't cut it off me! I would like to wear this outfit more than once!” She winked at him, her painted eyelid sparkled in the light.

Raistlin grinned ruefully but refrained from ruining what he suspected was an expensive item of clothing. Silk this sheer was not readily found nor, from what little he knew of textile production, easily made. Helping Yurielle to sit up, Raistlin slid the soft fabric off her arms.

“It's nice,” he said, feeling it in his fingertips and admiring the silver threads sewn into the seams and edges in delicate flowering patterns. His eyes returned to her lacy corset and matching bottom. “I don't think I've seen you in this color,” he added, running his hand down her rib cage, feeling the softness of the outfit.

“What color do you see?” she asked, curious.

He cocked his head at her. “I think it's lavender?” he said, his fingers tracing the embroidered patterns on the corset. “Or, at least it looked that way at first...” Raistlin frowned, for indeed, now that he truly studied it, the soft color was less purple and more gray as his curse leeched the vibrant shade away.

“It is,” Yurielle confirmed with a small smile. “I was hoping you'd notice the color,” she said. “Even if it was for just a moment.” Lightly she ran her fingers down his bare chest, mimicking how he touched her own. “I know that black and white, even darker shades like my blue robes, stay fairly consistent for you, but I wanted this to be different and special. Something soft and spring-like to celebrate your new freedom and the start of our new life... of just the two of _us_.”

Touched beyond words, Raistlin could only stare at Yurielle for many long moments, his heart nearly bursting. Time and again she somehow banished all negative thoughts he had been carrying.

Raistlin knew they'd return, for they always did. But somehow, with Yurielle there was only her light and her love. Only she mattered. Only this life she spoke of, of them being together, mattered. Drawing his beloved against him, Raistlin kissed her passionately, lovingly, thankfully. He let his mouth convey all the things his mind could not put into words.

Gods he loved this woman!

Here he had thought that he'd be the one to apologize, to make up for the days of his foul mood and obsessive cleaning of his den. Here he thought that he had smothered her, had pushed her away, or caused her to find time away from him to be with her friends. But instead, his Star had prepared their space and made this moment truly special.

How he could ever top this? Raistlin had no idea. But he resolved to try someday.

Running his hand down her back he cupped her rear and remembered the scandalous way she was not covered and the rush of blood through his body pulled him from his inner thoughts. With a smile against her lips, Raistlin drew away.

“So,” he said, breathless, “what other surprises do you have in store for me tonight, my delicious Yurielle? I've experienced your blindfold and feather and, though I enjoyed it, I find that I might not last as long as you hope I will if you keep teasing me like this!” To prove his point he gave a quick squeeze of her butt cheek, causing her to jerk her body in surprise, driving the soft curve of her bosom against his chest with her intake of breath and the other warm parts of her to grind against his hard length.

Yurielle didn't immediately answer. Instead, she lightly chewed on her lower lip again, her eyes twinkling at him as her usual blush deepened along her neck and up her face.

“What do you have in mind for the silken cord?” he asked slyly, curious. “Is it for you, or me?”

Quietly Yurielle reached over to grab the length of soft rope and Raistlin watched, mesmerized, as she loosely looped it around her wrists.

Their eyes met.

“Love me tonight,” she said softly. “Claim me, Raistlin. I'm yours and I trust you completely. Do anything you want to do to me.” She twirled the cord in her hands until it bound her wrists. Her face suddenly flamed even hotter.

Raistlin only gaped at her in stunned silence.

“I sense that you've felt helpless lately, Raistlin,” Yurielle explained to his confused look. “Like you aren't in control of anything... so,” her eyes flicked up to lock with his as she declared: “Take control over me. Tie me up and experiment on me all night.”

Raistlin stared at her and saw in her eyes that she had sensed his helplessness, his uncertainty, his utter lack of direction. Even more emotions ran through him at that moment as he keenly remembered her jest the first night they had made love:

 _'I'm going to make sure you get it through that thick skull of yours that you are more than adequate in pleasing a woman even if I have to tie myself to your bed and be your test subject all night long!'_ She had said to him...

And here she was, the only thing he wanted, the only thing he _needed_ , surrendering herself completely to him with such love and trust that it smote him. All the thoughts and uncertainties he had been dealing with melted away to be just faint memories. Desire and love ignited in his veins at her submissive declaration.

“Your wish,” he said low in his throat, “is my command, delicious, sweet Yurielle...”

Taking the offered end of the cord, the Archmage simultaneously pushed her down to the petal-strewn coverlet with one hand and with the other looped the free end of the rope around the post of the bed above her head, making sure nothing was too tight as he did. He eyed her wrists warily.

“Don't worry,” she breathed up at him, “I learned a few knots today too! Trust me,” she grinned up at his surprised look.

“What kind of afternoon did you have?!” he asked, incredulous. This all was truly something new and unexpected, but far from unwelcome.

“The _fun_ kind, obviously!” She winked before proceeding to squirm her body in the way that made sure his eyes went to watch the slight jiggle to her constrained breasts.

“Minx!” he chuckled softly, unable as always to keep his eyes off the sensuous movement.

“What happened to succubus?” she pouted up at him.

“Are you here to drain my soul?” he asked, trying to be serious.

“I'm here to drain _something_ ,” Yurielle declared, not missing a beat with her weird, quirky humor. “Once you've had _your_ fun that is!”

“We'll see how much energy you have once I'm done with you,” Raistlin returned slyly before leaning down and nuzzling his face against hers. As he did, he breathed her in. He expected to smell lavender on her skin and in her hair to match the purple lingerie and springtime flower petals. However, he was pleasantly surprised to realize she smelled of orange blossoms; a scent he hadn't noticed on her in a long, long while.

“Will you last that long, Archmage?” she teased, feeling his excitement near her; that golden member so taut and ready, quivering and swollen.

Raistlin snickered and for good measure made sure to grind against her, earning him a soft whine. “ _This_ pain is pleasure, my love,” he said huskily, trying not to think about just _how_ painful it was right now. Instead he focused on her, on getting lost in her body and making her ache just as badly.

“Then make me hurt, Raistlin,” Yurielle moaned in response, her eyes rolling back as he lazily rocked against her, the sound of her quivering voice almost undoing him right then and there.

That pleasant feeling he knew to be love filled Raistlin's veins, for Yurielle never said or did anything he expected. And he wanted her no other way.

Yurielle sighed as he ran his nose along her face again, his breath warm on her skin, making it prickle like his magic did. Her heart fluttered as Raistlin kissed her around one eye, being careful not to disturb the cosmetics there, then followed the curve of her cheek to her mouth, taking deeply. Every place his soft lips touched, her skin sparked at the contact and her mind buzzed as he claimed her mouth with that tongue he was far too good at using.

“Raistlin...” she moaned, trying to hook her leg around his and pull him closer again when his mouth finally left hers.

He ignored her attempts as he trailed kisses down her neck and lightly ran his hands along her body; over her lace-covered breasts and down the silk and velvet along her ribs. Coming to the tie at the bottom of her corset above her stomach, Raistlin tugged gently at the ribbon.

“Why do you insist on wearing such complicated things?” he complained when he saw that he'd have to untie the whole works in order to free her.

Yurielle gave a breathy laugh. “I enjoy making things difficult for you once in a while, Raistlin,” she teased. “You can't take your pleasure so easily _all_ the time. Besides,” she added with a sly smile, “what's the rush? We have all night.”

“What indeed,” he grinned back at her, “But remember, sweet Yurielle, that you are under my control now. I can, and _will_ , take as long as I wish.”

“I expect nothing less, Archmage,” she returned, her eyes bright and eager, her skin flushed. “Torture away you evil wizard.” At her command, he flashed her a look that sent her heart rate spiking.

With dexterous fingers Raistlin slowly undid the front of her corset. Taking his time, he would pause to make sure to run his hands against her exposed skin knowing how his touch, especially when aroused, drove Yurielle crazy.

Finally, the last of the ribbon was pulled through the final eyelet, allowing the corset to pop open. The flesh of her breasts came loose, as warm and soft as he knew them to be and Raistlin wasted no time in kissing them gently, especially where the inner boning within the garment appeared to have dug into her, leaving red marks on her skin.

All the while Yurielle gasped and strained against the silken cords that held her arms above her head. She sighed as her lover lavished her breasts, taking each into his mouth while massaging the other with dexterous fingers, gently working each nipple hard. Yurielle wanted more; more of his mouth and hands to explore and caress her. But she was unable to do anything about it as Raistlin made good on his promise and savored her with _agonizing_ slowness.

“Raistlin...!” she mewled, writhing beneath his mouth. “Please... please, touch me!”

“I thought you wanted torture,” he chuckled and flicked a nipple with his tongue. She only gasped in reply as his mouth worked on the succulent flesh while he delighted in her heavy pants accented with frustrated moans.

Finally, after making sure she was good and worked up, Raistlin gave in to her pleas. His fingers moved lower along her body to quickly find the slick wetness between her trembling legs and tease her through the silk. It was his turn to gasp when he found no resistance to his searching fingers. There was no cloth to be felt there! He drew back to view her small clothes in order to make certain that she hadn't somehow removed them when he wasn't paying attention.

The light fabric was still there but upon closer inspection, he saw that it ended just above her lips; the secret concealed cleverly by soft lace. Gods of Magic the garment was designed to expose more than just her rear! Raistlin looked up at her, his eyes wide and burning.

Raistlin suddenly found that Yurielle wearing undergarments that had nothing covering her sex was far more scandalous than her occasional lack of small clothes altogether. And it nearly drove the Archmage over the edge of his careful restraint.

Almost.

“Looks like they forgot to finish your clothes,” he breathed as he slid a finger inside her, earning him a loud keen of pleasure.

Raistlin then noticed another scandalous surprise as his fingers worked around her slick opening. Her skin was smooth and soft, hairless along her wet, swollen flesh. “What in the...?” he asked, again incredulous as he removed his fingers and ignoring her complaints of leaving her feeling empty. He had to see what was going on!

Readjusting his position, the Archmage could make out the dark curling hair that covered her mons still hiding beneath the sheer silky fabric of the sparse garment. But the lower he inspected he could see that the hair had been removed along the apex inside her legs and around her cunnus, leaving her greater lips smooth and bare.

“You are full of surprises tonight!” He shook his head with a chuckle, his face flushing red, for he wasn't sure what to make of this particular surprise.

“Please!” Yurielle whined, either ignoring or oblivious to his flustered reaction. “It... feels so smooth and... good! Keep touching me!” she pleaded, her legs trying in vain to pull him closer. Her back arched, straining against her bonds, her whole body vibrating with want.

Raistlin watched, enthralled at her reaction. She clearly had been waiting for this discovery and his warm, magic-tinged touch was enhanced against her bare skin. With a sly grin, Raistlin obliged to her demand and did one better. Gently returning his fingers back inside her, he also began kissing the newly shorn skin, adding his hot mouth to the rush of sensations. He chuckled softly as her legs involuntarily clamped together, nearly crushing his ears in the process.

Yurielle could only cry out in response as his tongue tortured her, repeatedly bringing her so close to her release before leaving to kiss somewhere else. She could only lay there helpless, her mouth open and chest heaving staccato pants as her body writhed, every part of her on the very edge of bursting.

“Please!” she whimpered as he again trailed his mouth back to the inferno that was ready to consume her.

Curving his fingers inside her while lavishing attention on her tasty nub of flesh at her apex suddenly summoned forth an explosive orgasm that shook through Yurielle's body. Raistlin knew he'd never tire of the way she screamed his name in ecstasy when she released.

And as her cry filled the room, so too did an unexpected wave of sparkling light. The Archmage watched in awe as beams of every color danced up out of Yurielle's body to burst into tiny rainbows above the bed.

The colorful display slowly began to fade as she came down from her high and Yurielle slumped back amongst the rose petals, laughing and panting like a drunkard with too much wine.

Raistlin crawled up her body and clumsily untied her arms from the bedpost.

“That...” Yurielle breathed in awe, “was _incredible_ , Raistlin!”

When he didn't respond, Yurielle opened her eyes to find, to her wonderment, that little bubbles of rainbow-colored light were gently falling back to the bed. The small globs burst as they landed and she imagined that she could hear them make tiny popping sounds like little bells.

“What the..!” she exclaimed before noticing that Raistlin was rubbing at his eyes. “Did _I_ do that?!”

“Yes!” he replied, his voice amused but he also sounded a bit put-out. “I think you just cast Color Spray - or something similar - when you orgasmed, Yurielle. You nearly succeeded in blinding me!”

“What?!” she gasped. “Oh no! I'm so sorry!” she cried, sitting up and grabbing hold of his hands and pulling them away from his face as if she could somehow help him.

Raistlin blinked rapidly to clear the hazy spots of light from his vision. “I'm alright,” he smirked awkwardly. “The spell wasn't strong enough to completely affect me, thanks to my skin. But I looked directly at it... Like accidentally looking at the sun,” he explained as he blinked again.

“Are you sure?” she asked, cupping his face.

“Yes,” he assured. “Besides, the spell is temporary,” he added, hearing the concern in her voice.

“Yes, but-”

“It's already fading. See?” he said, rubbing his eyes one last time and meeting her worried gaze. “No harm done.”

Yurielle pursed her lips at him, obviously torn between her need to understand what just happened and her remorse for doing that to him. But also holding back laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“I cast a spell?!” she finally asked, amazed.

Raistlin nodded. “If this is going to be a thing now,” he said as he gently ran his hands along her bare arms to come to her still bound wrists, “then it's good we have blindfolds on hand. Just as long as you don't end up casting fireball, that is.”

Unable to hide her mirth, Yurielle snorted into her hands and laughed out loud. “Wouldn't that be something?!” she exclaimed.

Raistlin too couldn't help but snicker at the thought.

“I wouldn't put it past you, Archmage,” Yurielle said as he assisted in untying her wrists. “You're just too gods-damned good at what you do to me! I can't predict the side effects!”

Raistlin grinned and pulled her to him, pressing her body to his. “You are full of surprises, my Star,” he whispered. “I want to make them all mine!”

Yurielle returned his grin before pushing him back to the bed. Clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth, she pouted when she saw that he had lost much of his erection due to the unexpected blinding.

Raistlin noted her study of him. “Do something about that, apprentice,” he commanded with a lazy wave of his hand as if he were reprimanding her for dropping something on the floor. “It's your fault anyway.”

Pulling the silk cord through her palms again, it was Yurielle who smirked down at the Archmage this time. Leaning over him she whispered, “Your wish, is my command...”

*******

Hours later, the two of them stirred from their sex induced stupor to find themselves tangled in silken cords, scarves, and flower petals.

Yuriellesighed contentedly and nuzzled deeper into Raistlin's warm side while he plucked crushed flowers out of her hair, oblivious that just as many were smashed in his white locks. Her long body lay perfectly against his, filling every crevasse and space with warmth and softness as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

“Seriously though,” his voice pulled her back from the edge of sleep, “how much coin did you spend on a wad of satin and lace? Do we need to set aside a special fund for all these 'girls' outings?”

Yurielle laughed until tears stung her eyes.

“That all depends on if it was worth it or not!” she said when she could speak.

“I might need more convincing...” he replied slyly.

“Good,” she grinned up at him, “because we haven't even gotten to the bath!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/8/20: The impish part of me really wanted to name this chapter "Color Spray to the Face" xD but I managed to refrain lol!  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. See you next week!


	21. Rosemary and Woodland Critters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read my ramblings in the notes after

Caramon hadn't been home in three nights.

Tika didn't know where he was staying, but to say that she didn't care was wrong. She did care, deeply, and it made it all the more painful as she closed up the Inn of the Last Home with only Raf and Dezra for help. Her green-eyed gaze wandered over to the spot behind the bar, empty these last days, as she idly swept the same spot for five minutes straight while trying not to think the worst.

 _'Where is he? Is he hurt? Did he leave us? ...Is he dead?'_ These questions and more grew louder and louder within Tika, smothering her to the point she felt like screaming.

“Go to sleep, Tika,” Dezra said softly, seeing her friend pause, her eyes blank, face pale and fingers gripping the broom handle so hard all color that was leached from her knuckles.

Tika shook her head and, bowing it to hide her face, kept sweeping.

“I can manage the rest of the cleaning by myself,” the other woman said.

“Raf help too!” the gully dwarf cried indignantly from somewhere under the bar where he was undoubtedly helping himself to the plethora of crumbs that had fallen from clumsy fingers throughout the busy day.

“If I hear you sigh one more time...” Dezra said as she took the broom from Tika's numb fingers, “you'll have _me_ crying right along with you.”

Tika dabbed at her eyes with her apron, she hadn't realized she was crying. Again. “He's never left like this,” she said with a sniff. “Not even when his drinking was really bad...”

“Well for one, he was too drunk to move half the time,” Dezra retorted as she guided her friend to sit at one of the tables. “I'm sure he's just off somewhere thinking.”

The red-haired woman snorted into her apron. “Caramon? Think?”

Dezra clucked at her. “Now you know that's being harsh,” Dezra said as she poured some water. Both women knew Caramon was a deep thinker, so much so that most thought him dumb because of how slowly he mulled things over in his mind. “I'm sure he's just off in the woods. Or,” she set the glass in front of Tika, “did anyone see if he left with Obsidian and her group?”

“I asked the town guard's if any saw him leaving with them, but no one did...” Tika replied, holding the glass in her hands but not drinking. Releasing it she rubbed her face wearily. “But I wouldn't put it past him to try to prove himself on some wild adventure and that scares me more than anything else,” she confessed. “Caramon's in no shape to be adventuring anymore...” Her face twisted with all the worry and fear she had been holding in all day. The words took form and tumbled out of her in a near hysteric rush. “Gods, Dezra! What if he gets himself killed?! Or what if he wandered off drunk somewhere and needs help?! What if-”

Dezra's gentle hand on the back of her neck halted her worried thoughts.

“I'm sure he's fine,” her friend said. “He'll turn up when he's good and ready, Tika. The guards know and people are on the lookout just in case someone does find him... He just needs time to sort things through, that's all.”

Dezra didn't tell Tika that she had firsthand knowledge that the big man had been spotted down at the Trough, the shadiest bar on the poorer side of Solace. Known for its rowdy crowds and seedy clientele, the Trough served brigands and drifters and those that didn't fit in with the rest of polite society. People like drunks, dark dwarves, the occasional stray draconian or minotaur, and the rare half monster-folk that dared enter the edge of town were regulars there and the staff knew to turn a blind eye to the dealings the various riff-raff got up to in the dark corners of the fetid bar.

Tika was forced to untie her apron so that she could use the whole thing to dry her eyes and face. “I've never thrown him out before, Dezra! I just wanted him to come here and work it off... I didn't mean for him to _leave_!”

“I know,” Dezra soothed, sitting beside her and hugging her close. “Come, let's get you upstairs to your kids. Raf and I will finish here,” she said as she pulled Tika to her feet.

“Thank you, Dezra,” Tika sobbed quietly as they shuffled to the steps. “You're my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without your help around here.” At the affronted huff from under the bar Tika added, “And you too, Raf. You both help out so much. It means the world to me...”

“Don't you mention it dear,” Dezra said as they ascended the steps to the room the Majere family occupied when living at the inn. The majority of their time was spent here, but every so often either Otik or Dezra herself, or even a combination of the other workers, would handle the inn at off hours so the family could be together at home.

They had tucked the children in just a short while ago so the two women were quiet as they unlocked the door and entered the semi dark room. As expected, all three boys were fast asleep; the toddlers sharing their small bed and Palin in his little crib. The master bed was empty.

Still no Caramon.

Dezra helped Tika unlace her bodice and got her friend, who by now was doing all she could to not wake the boys with her crying, into bed.

“Check the house for me?” Tika asked softly as Dezra turned to go.

Her friend nodded from the doorway and shut it with a soft click.

“Oh, I'll find him,” Dezra murmured as she descended the steps. “I'll find that big oaf and knock some sense into him.”

After making sure the gully dwarf was set with his usual duty of 'guarding the kitchen for the night', Dezra left the inn. Locking it behind her, she walked down the long walkway by the waning light of Solinari.

***

Something soft (but somehow also sharp) was smacking him on the side of the face.

“Stop...” Caramon groaned and waved his hand at whatever was near him. His hand brushed against something soft and he heard shuffling of dry leaves beside him. Thinking whatever it was had gone, the big man resumed his task of laying on the cold ground to embrace the blissful sensation of unconsciousness once more.

Moments later, the sensation resumed. Like a soft 'tap tap tap' against his forehead but there were little spikes at the end of the soft pad.

“Go away...” He tried to shoo it again, but whatever was bugging him had positioned itself just perfectly so that he wasn't able to locate it by flailing his arms around his body in an attempt to drive it off.

Finally, the big man cracked his eyes open and looked up.

One green eye and one blue stared down at him; the two eyes gleamed at him, nacreous in the faint silvery moonlight filtering down through the budding leaves high overhead.

“Meow?”

“AH!” Caramon exclaimed and sat up far too quickly for his current state and almost immediately regretted his life's choices as he fell back into the mud, all the blood rushing from his head and making his stomach churn. He groaned and pressed his face into the damp dirt beneath him as realization slowly dawned on him that it had been the tapping of the cats' clawed paw that had woken him. “Stupid cat,” he grumbled and tried not to move as the ground suddenly wanted to spin wildly under him. He belched loudly, releasing a plume of foul gases from deep in his stomach. He sighed, feeling better, and closed his eyes to welcome the blackness once more.

The cat jumped back and fluffed its gray fur at him with an indignant flick of its tail, clearly offended by the stench. Its ears, far too large for its tiny head, were pinned back, their black tufts flat against its neck.

Somewhere nearby, the sound of a door creaked open and a bright yellow light lanced across the ground to land along the prone man's body.

“What did you drag home now?” Came a disgruntled, rickety voice that sounded like brittle leaves.

In a blur of gray and black strips, the cat darted off and came to settle at the feet of the old crone that was shuffling her way over to see what was going on in her garden in the middle of the night.

“Majere?” the voice asked in both annoyance and surprise. After a moment Caramon felt something jab at one of his legs. “Caramon Majere!” an old woman scolded now and gave him another good poke with her walking stick. “Get up you lump!”

“Weird Meggin?” Caramon groaned, his face still in the dirt.

“Weird indeed!” she huffed. “At least I have enough sense to not be sleeping on the ground in the heart of spring!” She gave another rap against his thigh with her stick, causing Caramon to roll over with another groan. “Gods, you _stink_!” she exclaimed in disgust. “But looks like you're not so addled that I need to go get someone to move you. UP!”

“Where am I?” the big man managed to mumble as the world spun and the things around him went in and out of focus, making him dizzy again.

Meggin whacked him across the shins once more in answer. Hard. “You're in my garden, squashing my rosemary!”

“OUCH!” he roared and rolled over again to come face to face with the woman's wolf companion.

The beast, though blind in one eye and nearly toothless, still managed to strike a fearful stance as its remaining yellow eye glared at the drunken form of the retired warrior. The wolf's muzzle pulled back in a warning snarl that echoed low in his chest.

With much effort, Caramon pushed himself up out of the mud and blinked his eyes wearily. Solinari's fading light streamed down on him as he looked around to get his bearings. Indeed, he was next to Weird Meggin's cabin, inside her garden that wrapped around part of the tree. Caramon sat up and winced, his eyes darting up above them and it was then that he remembered stumbling off the walkway and dropping the good ten or so feet to the ground below. He looked at the mud and dirt around him and saw the smashed remains of her spring planting, her large shrub of winter rosemary had cushioned his fall.

“Yes, look at what you did, you drunken sot!” she scolded, shaking her walking stick at him menacingly. “That plant survived the dragons and if it doesn't survive _you_ using it as a bed I'll take a piece of your hide off and write a good long complaint to the authorities using it as vellum!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled and tried to straighten a bent stem next to him. It only sagged back to the ground forlornly, dropping a few leaves but also filling the air around him with a fragrant scent that brought back too many memories...

Young Raistlin, before his Test and coming home late, his hands smudged with dirt and the scent of herbs clinging to his clothes and soft brown hair. If asked, the younger twin would share a bit of what he had learned that day from the old woman. He'd then use his knowledge to make some tea or flavor their supper...

But Caramon remembered that he rarely asked, because the explanations bored him, and he took for granted how his brother cooked so well. Raistlin quickly learned to not waste his breath with explanations or trying to teach his thick-headed twin. The memory - vivid and enhanced by the liquor still racing through his brain - played over and over in a loop within Caramon's skull.

The big man gave a small sob of regret. How he wished he had taken interest in what Raistlin had to say! He was so smart, far smarter than he. But the bigger man had thought his bookish twin would always be there, would always know what to do and say and would have all the answers that Caramon would ever need.

Raistlin was the brains while Caramon was the brawn. Those were their roles, but without his other half, Caramon would always flounder.

His lip quivered as he picked the fallen leaves up and crushed them in his fingers, releasing even more of the pungent aroma into the air. Caramon breathed deeply. Rosemary, moss, spring onions, the smell of earth... each one stirred a memory, each one a story so that the warrior's heart nearly burst with them.

Far too many memories for one person to bear alone.

“What's wrong with you _now_?!” the old woman exclaimed in exasperation as she slowly lowered herself to the ground to properly tease the bending arms of her shrub back into order so they didn't permanently stay bent. “Get yourself home and sleep it off and leave my plants alone!”

The gray cat followed the woman and sat on the other side of her as she worked, its eyes locked on Caramon, watching him. The wolf had sauntered off, returning to the warmth of the cabin.

“Raist...”

“Eh?” Meggin asked as she worked. When Caramon didn't move she elbowed him out of the way so she could check the mint seedlings that he was dangerously close to. “What's that brother of yours have to do with you passing out in my herbs?”

When he didn't answer, the old woman finally looked up into the big man's face when the cat beside her gave a loud “Mew!” to draw her attention.

“Oh,” she said, noticing the blank, pain-filled stare on the man's face. Gathering her skirts around herself, she scooted to be next to him. “What's happened, Caramon?” she asked, her blue eyes, though surrounded by deep folds and wrinkles of skin, were still sharp and cunning, commanding attention. “Where is your brother?”

“ _Where is your brother?”_ The words echoed along the threads of memories racing through his mind. Rare was it that the two of them were separated without knowing where the other was. But once in a while, one of them would go off on their own and usually, something would happen. Be it a scraped knee, a bee sting, or cornered by a bully, their rare outing alone usually ended up with one of them returning in tears.

Caramon dried his eyes, smearing dirt across his wet face. “Not here,” he mumbled. He didn't feel like sharing anything with this strange woman. He just wanted to crawl into his bed with his wife and sleep his pain away in hopes that when he woke, everything would be like it once was.

“He ain't dead is he?” Meggin asked with the same tone one would ask if it was going to rain.

The big man shook his head. After a few moments of awkward silence, he said, “I'm sorry, I'll go home now.”

“Best idea yet,” she sneered as she patted the small mounds of dirt over the seeds she had planted not a couple of days before.

Caramon went to stand but gasped as pain lanced through his ankle.

Meggin watched him fall back to the ground, holding his leg. “Sit back and be still before you crush more of my sprouts!” she scolded. With an irritated sigh, she looked at the cat. “Go get my knife.”

The cat's eyes narrowed, the mismatched irises glittering mischievously as the tip of its tail tapped against the ground. It gave a small, bored “Meow!” that ended in a wide yawn, revealing its tiny sharp teeth.

“Then tell that good for nothing mutt to bring it out if you're going to be useless!” Meggin shooed the feline away with a flick of her gnarled hand. “Good for nothing free-loader...” she muttered as she began to inspect Caramon's leg and ankle.

The big man's eyes widened at the mention of a knife so much that he didn't notice anything else the woman had said as the cat darted away, apparently on a quest to get the wolf. If Caramon were in his right mind he would have had way more questions than, “Does it have to be amputated?” But he wasn't in his right mind and half of him was pretty sure he was hallucinating all this. It was common for him to do so after drinking what had put him in this state...

“Does what?” Meggin snapped as she prodded at the swollen flesh at the edge of his boot.

“My foot...”

The old woman took one look at his anxious face and busted up laughing, her cackle ringing through the late evening air. “I'm afraid so!” she howled with twisted glee. “Make a good bone for the stew I'm planning,” she added with a grin that had way more teeth than someone her age usually possessed.

Caramon blanched and if he hadn't thrown up before he fell off the walkway, he was sure to have lost his stomach's contents right then and there.

Just then the wolf loped over to them. In his jaws, he held the handle of a sharp cutting knife. The cat trailed behind, its tail curved slightly in that smug, self-satisfied way that cats have when bossing others around and getting what it wants.

The big man nearly swooned when Meggin took the knife from her animal companion and turned to him, ignoring the slobber dripping off the blade and down the handle in gooey strings.

“Shouldn't that be sterilized?” Caramon asked, shutting his eyes and waiting for the inevitable.

“What _ever_ are you blathering on about, you sod?”

“Sterilized,” Caramon slurred. Bracing himself, he squeezed his eyes tighter. “Ya know, clean it. Raistlin always said things needed to be sterilized and cleaned to prevent infection.” The big man explained quickly, trying his best to distract himself while he waited for the old crone to start sawing.

Again, if he were in his right mind, Caramon Majere wouldn't have been so willing or convinced to give up his foot so easily. As it was, the pain in his head outmatched the pain throbbing in his ankle. The way he felt now was making him consider asking Meggin to bore a hole in his head to let the liquor bleed out of his skull once she had butchered up his foot.

“Well, your brother is right about that,” the crone agreed. “But I'm not doing surgery, you lout. Hold still!” she reprimanded when his eyes shot open and he moved his leg suddenly. “I _will_ cut you while taking this boot off if you keep twitching!”

“Oh, s..sorry.” Caramon flushed red and watched in silence as the elderly woman nimbly cut the laces of his boot, loosening it enough for her to be able to pull it from his foot.

“Swollen,” she said to herself as she inspected the thick flesh around his ankle that was already turning a nasty shade of purple. “Move your toes.”

Caramon obeyed and managed to a small wiggle of each digit.

“This hurt?” she asked and prodded a few spots of flesh with a yellow nailed finger.

For the next several minutes, Caramon sat still and answered Meggin's questions, doing as she asked as the old woman examined his injury.

“Good,” she said finally with a satisfied nod. “Not broken, just badly sprained. Though,” she eyed his bulk, “you'll probably need a splint to keep it stable while it heals.” She stood up, both knees popping alarmingly. Straightening her back, the old woman brushed strands of white hair back away from her face and tucked the ends haphazardly into the tight bun under her hood. Fixing Caramon a hard stare she said, “I'll see if I can find a stick for you to hobble your way inside so I can tend to you.”

“Can't I use yours?” he asked innocently, pointing to the wooden rod she was just then bending down to retrieve.

“You aren't touching _my_ staff!” the old woman shot back. With that, she made her way around the corner of her tiny house.

Caramon glared blurrily at the so-called 'staff' she used for support as she disappeared from view. To him it was just a plain old whittled stick with feathers and animal skulls dangling from leather cords tied to the top.

“That's no staff,” he muttered under his breath. “Raistlin, now he had a staff...” He looked next to him to find that the cat had come closer once more. “She's crazy isn't she?”

As if to answer, the cat suddenly swatted him against the back of his hand before darting away with an angry hiss.

“OUCH!” Caramon cried and stared, dumbfounded at the scratch marks that bloomed red with tiny beads of blood.

“Now what?” Meggin asked, appearing again from around her house. She was surprisingly tall for her age, her back only slightly bent. Wiry and thin as a willow branch, with tough and weathered skin, Weird Meggin had aged well and remained strong despite her ancient appearance. Her legs, however, had bothered her this winter more so than they ever had and spring had yet warmed her old joints. Because of this, she relied heavily on her staff to support her as she made her way back over to the prone man.

“Your cat scratched me!”

“Well don't be talking sass to her,” Meggin scolded as she threw a long stick down to land at Caramon's feet. “Get up and come into the house. I'll start some tea to get you sobered up. Though,” she eyed him again, “mayhaps we'll wait to sober you up until after the splint. It might hurt more than a wee cat scratch. Wouldn't want you swooning on me like a virgin seeing her first cock.”

Caramon stared at the old crone, his mouth hanging open. His only thought was a small realization of where his twin may have picked up his tendency for thinly veiled insults. Slowly he got to his feet, using the stick that she had brought him to take most of his weight off his injured ankle.

Meggin didn't wait to see how Caramon would fare as she had already returned to her house. She left the back door open from which warm firelight splayed out along the grass, the smell of spices and warm bread floated to Caramon on a slight breeze.

With a lazy huff, the wolf followed his master while the cat lingered behind as if enjoying watching the big man struggle to his feet and find his balance.

“Scat! You flea-bitten...” Caramon scowled and made a swipe at the feline with the butt of his walking stick. With another offended hiss, the cat darted off into the underbrush and disappeared as Lunitari, now almost full, started filtering through the trees; her reddish light mingled with her cousin's, casting the world into shades of eerie purple very similar to the angry tissue of Caramon's ankle.

By the time the big man hobbled his way into the tiny cabin, the old woman had already gathered an impressive array of herbs and items that lay on a neat pile on top of her table in the center of the small main room. Caramon soon noted that it was the neatest thing about the place while he eyed the various strings of herbs hanging to dry from the low ceiling and the collection of boxes that lay piled haphazardly around the space.

This had once been his and Tika's small dwelling as they helped rebuild the town but it was so crammed full with stuff now that it was unrecognizable in its current state. Small cages sat in or hung from nooks, inside slept various critters in various states of health. Caramon saw a red squirrel look up at him as he hobbled past; its tiny leg was also wrapped.

“You too, eh?” he asked. As dubious as this situation was to him, seeing the rumor dispelled that the old woman ate her patients made the big man feel a bit better as he made his way to her table and sat down in the chair that creaked alarmingly under his weight.

“Now then,” Meggin began as she shuffled around the small space, setting water to boil and snatching various jars of thick ointment off of shelves as she passed, “let's get you mended back up, Majere, so we can both get on with our happy little lives.”

Caramon sat silently - his head pounding from his night of liquor and subsequent fall - and watched the old lady smear a thick poultice over his ankle before carefully bandaging it, reinforcing the joint with short pieces of wood within the linen wrappings.

As she worked, Caramon thought of all the days long passed, of always going to the woman's home first if he wasn't sure where Raistlin was and finding his twin elbow deep in herbs or other medicinal implements, learning the trade of herbalism and potion making from the old crone. So strong were his thoughts that he could almost see Raistlin hunched near the side desk. But the big man blinked and his twin was gone. A slight pain lanced through his leg, returning his attention to the old woman crouched on the floor in front of him. As Caramon watched her go about her trade of healing, he realized that he knew so very little of her.

For as long as the big man could remember, Weird Meggin had lived alone. She had no family that he knew of, no children, and certainly no companions or lovers that he could guess at. Besides her wolf (and apparently a new cat that he had never seen before) she had no friends and kept to herself. The people of Solace avoided her and for good reason, for it was common to see her wandering at the edges of the woods foraging or talking to the trees. A strange woman, but also smart and sharp-tongued, he had only interacted with her a small number of times during his adult life. He felt suddenly awkward now, for though he had offered this dwelling to her once his own home was nearly complete in the branches above, he had all but avoided her.

“So, uh...” he muttered, trying to find some way to fill the silence. “Looks like you're getting along well here.”

“It suits my purpose,” she said as she worked.

He looked around the cramped cabin that was little more than one large space. By the looks of it, the room they were in served as her kitchen, dining area, sitting room as well as her bedroom. Off to the side, there was a small door that he remembered Tika and he had used as storage and washroom, so he figured Meggin probably did the same. It was all so sparsely furnished that it seemed as though she lacked basic necessities. What few items of furniture she did own was loaded down with all matter of jars, baskets, boxes, and other containers holding dried herbs and other strange items he chose not to guess at.

“You know, if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask,” he said after a moment.

Her piercing blue eyes shot up to him. “So you said when you offered me this dwelling. But I have all I need, Majere, so I have not come knocking at your door for scraps.”

He flushed slightly, realizing that he may have offended her. “I didn't mean...”

She waved a hand at him and stood. Making her way around the table to a desk hidden under bundles of dried lavender and sage, she pushed them around to reveal several bottles beneath. Selecting one, she brought it over and held it out to him. “Healing potion,” she said, jiggling the red liquid at him. “It'll ease the pain, jump-start the healing, and dull that hangover in your skull.”

Caramon took it and eyed it dubiously. But, seeing her watching him with an expression of both amusement and slight annoyance, he uncorked it and downed its contents in one gulp. The thick syrupy liquid was slightly bitter but not unpleasant as warmth filled his limbs. Within moments, his head cleared a bit and his throbbing ankle felt better. “Thank you.”

She took the empty bottle from him with a nod. “You'll need to stay off this ankle as much as possible for the next week or so,” she said as she bustled about the area, putting away the excess bandages and items. “You can keep the _stick_ ,” she added with a wry smile. “Tomorrow I'll see if I can scrounge up a second one so that we can make you some crutches from them.”

“Thank you,” Caramon said again, still feeling awkward.

“Do you think you can manage the re-bandaging?” she asked, still putting away her items. When he didn't answer she turned to him. “Or do you want me to come by every few days to do it? Normally I'd just leave it, but I'll send some more poultices home to smear on it to help with the pain and swelling. If the stuff is left under the wrappings for too long, it may start to smell and mold,” she explained.

“You look like you have enough on your hands,” Caramon replied, indicating the various animals around the room that were watching him with their beady little eyes. “I'm sure I'll figure it out.”

“These little ones aren't much hassle,” she was saying as the water in the kettle finally finished its slow boil. Scooping up small helpings of various herbs, she soon made them both tea and brought mugs over along with her freshly baked bread and a container of honey. Setting it down in front of Caramon, Meggin took the seat next to him and began helping herself. “It's the least I can do to make sure you're mending well and sobering up. It'd be the _neighborly_ thing to do, after all.”

Caramon choked on the tea he had just taken a sip of. His drunken stupor had cleared enough that he recognized her barb for what it was – a reprimand for avoiding her so much. When he cleared his throat he said, “I've been meaning to stop by for a visit...”

Again she waved a hand his way. “I may be old, but I'm not stupid. You gave me this hut for your brother's sake. If he were here, he would have probably done the same, me thinks,” she said as she smeared honey, bright as sunshine, across her piece of bread. “He was a fine lad, your twin. Best student I ever had. That boy knew his way around herbs and his potion making skills rivaled my own.”

The big man could only nod, a lump filling his throat as his eyes were drawn to the bright golden hue of the honey, his mind remembering his twin's strange skin and eyes. He rubbed his face to clear the images and found the old woman staring at him with her unsettling gaze that saw more than she was letting on.

Caramon avoided her penetrating look by pretending to eye the bundles of herbs overhead. Slowly his gaze wandered over to find the cat had returned and had jumped up on a nearby stool, its mismatched eyes were also watching him. Like her master, the cat's gaze also seemed to miss nothing. Caramon suddenly didn't like being here, surrounded by a strange woman and her animals that were far too intelligent for his liking.

“Raistlin was smart and polite,” Meggin was saying as she nibbled at the honey-soaked bread, “unlike _some_ that I can name who sulk around my home to avoid being seen with the crazy lady. But then again, from what I hear, he's about as batty as they come wearing those black robes.” She took a sip of tea, cocking a white eyebrow at Caramon over the rim. “Either you're afraid of cats or you don't want to hear me speak of your brother.”

Caramon again tried to take a sip of his tea. The liquid was hot and bitter and managed to sharpen his senses just a bit more, coaxing his thoughts into a more coherent order. “I don't know what you mean,” he lied and took a giant bite of bread, ignoring the golden honey.

“You go white as a sheet when I mention Raistlin,” Meggin said as she set her mug down. “It's true then, isn't it? That he lives in that Dark Tower in Palanthas?”

He could only nod in answer, his attention on the piece of bread in front of him as if it would sprout wings and carry him away from this awkward situation.

“Well that's a shame, he was a good kid,” Meggin said with a shrug. “But we all walk our own roads I suppose, don't we?” When the silence stretched on the old crone added, “You don't approve of his choices? Is that why you drink?”

Caramon pushed the remaining bread away from him. “It's getting late,” he mumbled and, using the stick she gave him, rose himself to his feet.

“Now, now,” Meggin scolded him when he put too much weight on his injury and winced. “Someone will be by shortly to help you home,” she said, getting up and pushing him back into his chair.

“How do you know that?” Caramon snapped, annoyed at his inability to move under his own power. He sat back in the chair, wincing again as his ankle hit against the table leg. Carefully he moved it to the side out of the way; as he did he met the feline's gaze again.

The cat looked like it was grinning at him, its mismatched eyes sparkling.

Caramon decided he _hated_ this cat!

Not only that, he found himself hating this small cabin with its scent of herbs and spices and ghosts of memories. He hated his embarrassing predicament and the fact that he'd now have to either confess to Tika about where he'd been the past few days or he'd have to find somewhere else to stay. As he mulled his options over in his brain, the throbbing returned.

“Old Meggin has her sources of info,” the old crone replied, her own eyes alight with her own kind of strange mischief. At that moment an owl landed on her windowsill. It gave a few low warbles, drawing their attention. “Ah, thank you, friend.”

Caramon's mouth fell open. “You understand it?”

“By 'it' I'm assuming you mean the owl. Yes, I understand _him_ ,” she said pointedly. “Reginald is an old friend.”

“What did it -he- say?” Caramon asked, trying desperately to change the subject away from talking about Raistlin or the fact that she had guessed so easily why he was in the sorry state he was in. Caramon knew that the old woman's questions would lead to answers that he did not want to give right now, so best avoid the situation if at all possible.

“Your help is on the way,” Meggin said, getting up and shuffling back around the room. “Finish your tea; it'll clear your head more. I think you're going to need it...”

Before the big man could say anything else there was a knock on the front door. Meggin's wolf raised its head from where he had been laying by the small fire. He twitched his nose and rolled over with a lazy whine. The cat gave Caramon a slow blink of sympathy before scampering away out the back door that still stood open. Reginald preened his feathers.

“Caramon?” a voice called. “Caramon Majere, are you in there?”

“Gods damn it...” he groaned. “You could have told me!” he hissed at the old woman who cackled.

“Come in, dearie!” she called as she gathered a few items into a small cloth. “Your husband's here just finishing his tea.”

The front door opened and there stood Tika with Dezra right behind her. Little Palin was strapped to his wife's chest in his carrying wrap, fast asleep.

Their eyes met.

Caramon was surprised to see relief among the myriad of other emotions that played over Tika's face. “Hi Tika,” he said softly and tried to offer her a contrite smile.

“Come in, come in,” Meggin waved the two women into her little home. “I'm just gathering some willow bark and more poultice for you to apply to his ankle when you change his wrappings. He's going to need to stay off it for a while, a week at least, probably two just to be safe,” she explained as she wrapped various items into a large cloth and tied the bundle shut.

Caramon watched his wife's eyes go to his ankle that lay at an angle away from the table then to the stick he had propped up next to him.

“So you _did_ fall off the walkway,” she said as she stepped over the threshold, her friend on her heels. She came to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips, her greens eyes hardened. “Dezra said she saw a mess on the boards and what looked like a place someone had fallen to the ground below. She came to get me, thinking that it might have been you!”

“Yeah... sorry,” he said.

Tika closed the space between them and to Caramon's surprise, wrapped her arms around him. “I've been so worried...” she said, her voice breaking. “Where were you?!”

Caramon wrapped his arms around her in response, being careful of their infant between them, and hugged his wife thankfully.

Being this close to her husband brought the unmistakable scent of liquor and other smells that clung to him. They told her instantly where he had been. She pulled out of his embrace.

“Dwarf spirits!” The relief in her eyes fled to be replaced with hurt and disappointment. “You were at the _Trough_...” she said, her voice dripping with barely contained anger.

Caramon's face flushed, he went to open his mouth to try to explain but Weird Meggin cut him off. “What does it matter where he was? He won't be able to go anywhere for quite some time.” She handed the bundle to Dezra who hovered near the doorway.

“Now's not the time for your anger, Tika Waylan Majere,” the old woman said gently, stepping between the couple as if using her fragile frame as a shield. “Get your husband home and let him sleep it off. I'm sure you two can work it out. Besides,” she added, her bright eyes falling onto Caramon, “he's going to be in enough pain the next few days me thinks, what with that ankle and getting the spirits out of his system. Your anger at one another will only make things worse. Deal with one thing at a time.”

The couple eyed one another and Tika's face softened as she took a deep, shaky breath. “What if you fell higher up? You could have broken your neck!” she said to Caramon. Wiping her hand across her eyes quickly before turning to Meggin, she added, “Thank you for tending to him. How can I repay you?”

“No need for that nonsense.” Meggin waved the words away. “Just take care of one another these next few days. I added some teas that should help him through the liquor sweats, but it's going to be rough all the same.”

“Thank you,” Tika said again. Turning to Caramon, she eyed his current state. “How are we going to get up home?” she asked absently as she rested her hand on little Palin in his sling.

“I'll take the babe,” Meggin offered. “Between the two of you ladies, you can help him up the ramp.”

Tika eyed the woman for a heartbeat, hesitant.

“It's alright, Tika,” Caramon said, slowly getting up with the help of his stick. “She's really good at taking care of little critters, I trust her with Palin.”

Tika huffed and nearly reprimanded him for calling their son a 'critter', but she thought better of it. With a flush, she nodded to Meggin and after a moment the women had the baby strapped to the old woman's chest. Palin had woken up during the shuffle but was surprisingly quiet about the transfer. His large, blue-green eyes were locked on the old woman's features, studying them intensely like he always did with something new.

“Oh, my,” Meggin said as she eyed the babe back. “Aren't you the spitting image of someone I used to know?!” She smiled with a wink. Palin gave a sleepy coo back before dropping his head against her bony shoulder as if enjoying the aroma of herbs and musk that suffused the old woman's pores.

It took several minutes of Tika and Dezra helping Caramon up the ramp to their home in the tree above, but finally, they had him settled in bed. Weary from his sleepless days and nights and still fuzzy from liquor (not to mention the fact that all adrenaline from his injury had worn off) Caramon was snoring well before Tika was able to take Palin from Meggin and get him in his bassinet.

Dezra stood off to the side and stretched her cramping back muscles. With a sigh said, “Well I'm off then, Tika. I'll send someone with the boys in the morning. Don't worry about the inn, the crew and I can manage until you figure this out.” She nodded her head towards the bed where Caramon snored.

“Thank you, Dezra,” Tika said softly and went to her friend. The two hugged warmly before the dark-haired woman left, leaving Tika and the old crone alone with the sleeping baby and his injured father.

Tika led Meggin out into the living room, cringing as the floorboard in the short hallway gave a shrill shriek as she stepped on it. “Caramon's been meaning to fix that,” she said absently.

“Hmm,” Meggin grunted in reply and turned a keen eye to the red-haired woman. “He says he'll do a lot of things, doesn't he.” It wasn't a question.

Tika just shrugged and went to the kitchen.

“Do you need to talk about it?” Meggin asked.

The question brought Tika up short and for a moment she just blinked at the old woman. Finally, she came to her senses. “No,” she said. “No, I'm fine. I'm past needing to talk about it...” She gave a sigh and hung her apron up on the hook near the cupboards. “Can I offer you some tea before you go? Or some cookies?”

“No, I'd best be on my own way,” Meggin said, making her way to the door. “I'll stop by tomorrow with another stick to make into crutches for him and I'll show you how to change his brace.”

“Thank you,” Tika said again. She felt like that's all she had to say to the woman and her freckled cheeks flushed in both embarrassment and shame.

As if knowing the younger woman's feelings, Meggin paused and reversed her course. Standing in front of the other woman, she offered Tika a friendly pat on her forearm. “Your husband offered your courtesies if I should ever need anything,” she said. “I extend the same to you, Tika Waylan Majere, even if it is so small as to offer a bit of advice.”

Tika took the old woman's age-spotted hand and squeezed it gently, noting that there was strength in the other woman's grasp despite the slight bend to her long fingers. “And what advice would a woodswoman have to offer an innkeeper's wife?”

The crone offered a wise smirk. “That life has a way of sorting things out.” Meggin squeezed Tika's hand back. “So be patient and have understanding, and above all, know that life's too short to stay angry. At both your husband and the source of his ails... Whatever that may be.” She gave a wink with another pat of her hand.

With that, the old crone left the Majere home. She paused outside their door on the wide walkway and looked up at the two moons that her eyes saw, knowing that somewhere a third glared down at the world unseen.

“What a mess,” she said to the sky, the moons, and to the stars winking down at her.

A small “Mew?” drew her attention back down to the branches around her.

“Come on then,” she told the gray cat that then jumped from a nearby branch to settle onto her thin shoulder. “Tomorrow's going to be a busy day, let's get our weary bones to bed.”

The small cat climbed into Meggin's hood that lay lowered against her back. A tiny trill of agreement sounded as the mass of gray and black stripes settled within the warm wool. As the two made their way down to ground level, one green eye and one blue regarded the moons above with a gaze that gave the impression they understood far more than any simple woodland critter had any right to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/15/20: I've always loved the character of Weird Meggin. Such a mysterious figure from Raistlin's past and of course I really wanted to give her a life of her own (as well as flesh her out based on the little info we have on her from the books). Personally, I imagine her as one of those wiry, no-nonsense kind of old women that say whatever they want with no filter! A bit of her is inspired by old Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle and her home is kind of reminiscent of Howl's house and bedroom. Just useful cool junk, herbs and stuff everywhere (pretty much any Miyazki house lol). Idk why but Miyazaki has been on my mind a lot lately.... (GO WATCH HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE IF YOU'VE NEVER SEEN IT WHY ARE YOU READING MY STORY!!! xD)
> 
> Anyway I hope you liked the chapter :)
> 
> Also, I need to give you a heads up (I know I do this a lot and half the time end up not sticking to it so it's probably getting tiring) but I really am going to need to slow down posts. I went through everything and I have far, far less complete chapters coming up than I originally thought. So I need to get writing new stuff! I'll do my best and thanks to the Russian Musical having new shows the other weekend that I bought broadcasts to, I have lots of inspiration and new compositions to listen to. Did you go watch one of the versions of the musical on Youtube? Well there's your homework until I post again!! ((can you tell that I've had way too much coffee and I think quarantine has finally snapped me xD))
> 
> Anywhooooo if you don't see a chapter next week (10/22/20) then I'm skipping a week.
> 
> Take care! Until next time! ♥


	22. Simmering Worries and Forgotten Momentos

Thedays went by and within a week, winter's icy grip was just a distant memory as it finally and completely gave way to the green buds of growth as spring reclaimed the city of Palanthas. Life in both Towers of High Sorcery settled into a comfortable rhythm as the mages learned to trust and work with one another. Wounds healed, routines were established, but beneath it all, a simmering unease bubbled.

Of any sign of Fistandantilus or his followers, there was none. Raistlin and Dalamar had even gone so far as to reopen the Chamber of Seeing beneath the Tower, cleaned out the charred remains of the Live Ones, and turned it into a new scrying chamber. Members from all three Orders took shifts watching the Pool, always on the lookout to see if any information could be found of their adversaries whereabouts.

So far their searches resulted in nothing. Skullcap appeared dormant and any successful attempts to look within showed the viewer nothing but empty, decimated ruins.

Fistandantilus and his followers had moved, of this Raistlin was certain. He felt it in his bones – because it was what he would do in the Archlich's situation. But to where this foe had gone was anyone's guess and if Raistlin knew of any places Fistandantilus would go to, he no longer could remember them. However, it didn't stop him from trying to locate the Archlich or any member of his cult, but any attempted spells were repeatedly blocked or simply did not work.

During this time an influx of residents had come to be within the Tower in Palanthas as more and more of the curses were lifted from its walls and rooms within were repaired. Many wounded from Wayreth had been brought to be closer to the healing Temples if they needed care and those still at the Temple of Paladine were deemed well enough to join the other mages at the Tower. This arrangement would lessen the strain on the Temple's capacity as the warming weather inevitably brought forth the rise in seasonal travelers spreading illnesses.

Yurielle reflected on all the changes that had happened during this short time since she and Raistlin had returned from Skullcap while she placed the volumes of Fistandantilus' works onto the new shelves in the laboratory. After their return, that first week she had been ill while this last one she had been so busy either helping Raistlin or getting mages settled into the Tower, that she had so few moments to herself. So in moments like this, Yurielle found the silence to be most welcome as she sorted through her thoughts with the same careful attention that she sorted the cursed items the likes of which had once been the sole focus of her arcane studies.

Curses. How she found them fascinating! Even now, without her arcane magic, the space around Yurielle hummed with the discordant notes of them. Their weaves, like a myriad of colors only her strange senses could perceive, danced around her in a strange web that her soul wished to learn and understand and ultimately, release or solve.

Was it any wonder she was so drawn to Raistlin Majere?

Sighing to herself, Yurielle carefully followed her lovers' instructions and set the books of Fistandantilus in their new homes with respect and reverence. For though she loathed the Archlich and all he stood for, the woman also understood that the knowledge within the Lich's works was rare and unlike anything else on Krynn. She agreed with Raistlin that the tomes (all but the vilest) should be available to other magic users to use, for knowledge was power as well as protection against such evils.

However, the more powerful and vile the spellbook or journal, the more heavily warded and guarded they were made. These tomes were placed in a small room at the back of the laboratory within a vault that only a Head of one of the Orders could access and doing so would alert the others to their entry. This way someone would know when a mage attempted to dabble in something that may well spell their doom or cause irrecoverable damage to others.

Fistandantilus' knowledge was dark and hideous (this they all agreed on) but it was of value and necessary to balance the scales of the universe. Truly, this Tower of High Sorcery stood within sight of the Temple of Paladine as its shadow in more ways than one.

So many things in her life reflected this balance to Yurielle. But she found solace being in the middle of it, doing her part to keep the magic evenly weighed – even if now it was only to represent magic that few understood.

Humming to herself as she always did around such dark items, Yurielle took another bite of the sweet roll Raistlin had bought her during one of his trips from the Tower. His last trip was yesterday and he had bought her not one roll, but a box of them. Scolding him for trying to win her over with sweets, Yurielle was still endeared by his new show of affection, even if she worried that too many treats would make her body 'squishy' as she called it.

But to combat this, the two of them seemed to find time to work off all the sugar and honey at every opportunity! Yurielle grinned to herself as she chewed, for she was getting good at making sure that the Archmage kept his promise on giving her all the sex she wanted! Yurielle's face settled into a content, blush-inducing smile as she thought of her lover. The sweet taste of the honey-drizzled treat was nothing compared to the taste of Raistlin Majere...

So lost in her spicy daydream was she that Yurielle didn't notice someone ascending the steps outside the doorway until they were nearly at the landing. Hastily opening a random drawer on the stone worktable in front of her, she threw in the remaining bits of sticky bun just as Raistlin entered to check on her progress.

“How is it going?” he asked as he assessed how far she'd gotten today. His golden eyes narrowed when he saw her trying to be subtle in wiping crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “I specifically requested that you not eat in here!” he scolded and walked over to her.

“I wasn't-” she tried to say but when he reached up and dusted off a few crumbs from the front of her robe she knew it was pointless. “Oops... _Busted_.”

“You're a terrible liar, Yurielle,” he chided, his eyes tight at the corners with displeasure, “So don't even try to cover it up. You know that if any food got on these volumes they'd be ruined. I hate Fistandantilus,” he glowered, “but his work is valuable to all mages. To lose even a single word from a careless smudge would be unacceptable!”

“Sorry,” she gulped and swallowed the very last bit of roll remaining in her mouth, “It was just a bite. I won't do it again.”

Raistlin sighed heavily and looked around the room once more. He quickly noted that Yurielle had made significant progress in putting the volumes in the order that he had requested. Only a few smaller stacks remained. After she completed this task she would then begin to put the magical items away before he'd ward everything to ensure their security. It was a tedious project but Yurielle had readily agreed to take it on due to her experience doing similar tasks at Wayreth.

Raistlin was grateful for her help in this, especially since more mages had come to the Tower. The Archmage – no, the _Highmage_ – found himself quite busy with other tasks that needed his attention. Being around the Lich's items was still a drain on Raistlin and so he avoided contact with them as much as possible.

Of his discovery regarding his control of his golden skin, Raistlin had still made no mention of it to Yurielle. He wasn't sure why he kept this to himself, but keep it secret he did. It gnawed at him sometimes, particularly in moments like now when Yurielle was doing everything she could to assist him and did so with a smile and a gentle song on her lips.

Raistlin was used to keeping secrets. His life was rife with them. Perhaps it was his need to keep one advantage over others, even if it was at the expense of keeping something so important from his Star. He tried to make it up to her, showing her affection and thanks in the few ways he knew how to. His need for her had grown tremendously in the past days and for him, she had become not only friend and lover, but a pillar in his existence as he waded blindly through these strange new waters of leadership and lingering uncertainty of his own life's meaning.

His previous thoughts that he was depending too much on her still nagged him, for Raistlin found himself seeking her out several times throughout the day. No matter what he was doing, once finished, Yurielle was the first person that he went to find. Even today, this was the third or fourth time he had come to her to 'check' on her when, in reality, he just needed to see her. He just needed to fill his senses with her and ease his anxieties even if it did mean coming close to the Lich's items.

If she had any inkling of this, Yurielle didn't seem to mind. And until Raistlin could come face to face with this issue or until the opportunity for the conversation to come up presented itself, the Archmage decided that, at least for now, he'd allow himself to get lost in her. Raistlin let himself bask in Yurielle's light and warmth and took solace in her body when she offered it to him because he couldn't bring himself to put any sort of distance between them just yet...

He needed her. There simply was no other way to put it. As frustrating as this thought was to the Archmage, he was resigned to let it be until more immediate matters were settled.

“Make certain that it doesn't happen again,” Raistlin said, returning his focus back to her. “However, despite your _insolence_ ,” he continued with a cunning smile, “it appears you have everything under control here, Yuri.”

“Yup!” she chirped, ignoring his sly tone as she flashed him one of her dimpled smiles. “Just give me a couple more hours and I'll have the books in their permanent homes. Then later I'll start on the items and have those categorized, labeled, and sorted as per your request. We should be able to ward everything and put them away in their crates sometime tomorrow, _Master_ ,” she finished with a whisper of a teasing smile as turned and gathered up another volume before proceeding to innocently return to her work.

“Very well, I'll leave you to it then.” Raistlin nodded and couldn't keep the small smirk from tugging at the corner of his lips as he returned to the door. He never thought he'd enjoy flirting. He had always thought it a waste of energy when he'd witness others doing it. But since meeting Yurielle, he found it to be something he rather quite enjoyed, especially when his clever lover rose to the challenge and met him beat for beat.

“Oh, one last thing,” he added from within the doorway, unable to help himself.

Yurielle looked up to find him glaring at her. Not in a menacing way, but in that smoldering way that held promises for all kinds of pleasure if she 'misbehaved'. Her blood flamed hot at the look, pooling deep in her abdomen to settle and ache.

“I'll know if you go against my requests,” he said softly. “So please be sure to keep doing so, _apprentice_.” With that the Archmage left, his black robes swishing as he departed.

Yurielle stuck her tongue out at Raistlin's retreating form and she heard him chuckle as he descended the stairs. The husky sound of it echoed up to her and made her spine tremble with anticipation. If she still had her arcane magic, Yurielle would have used Dimension Door to reach his study before Raistlin did, making sure the Archmage walked in on her waiting and ready on his desk.

“Someday...” Yurielle told herself with a sigh.

Once she grew in her ambient magic and relearned what spells she could using that power, she'd make sure to spring that little scenario on the Archmage. If only to see that look on his face! She treasured those looks from him - like he was seeing something he never thought possible.

But right now, it wasn't possible for Yurielle - despite how much she wanted it to be. Because of this, Yurielle felt like she had lost so much since Skullcap, though she tried to not let it bother her. But in times like this, when she remembered the words to spells, when she sensed the magic but it wasn't quite aligned right for her to cast, she felt the deep ache of its loss. Yurielle couldn't help but feel that if she was better, more powerful, then she'd be faster at figuring out how to weave her magic to use as she once did.

However, the truth was frustratingly clear to her. Her magic was no longer how it once was. It would take time to learn and master. She took a deep, longing breath.

Someday...

Craning her neck, Yurielle made sure that she didn't see Raistlin hovering on the steps just out of sight. She counted to one hundred in her head and grinned to herself before putting the volume she still held back on the desk.

“He'll be back,” Yurielle told herself as she started opening drawers in search of her discarded treat. She doubted it would be edible anymore with being shoved into a moldy old drawer filled with the gods only knew what. But she knew she'd have to dispose of the evidence somehow and do it quickly in case the Archmage got it into his head that he needed to 'check' on her sooner rather than later. It was a miracle he hadn't caught her before this!

“Where is that blasted thing?” she asked the inanimate objects around her as she continued to open the random drawers in search of the roll. As she searched through the dank, cob-web full drawers and ignoring the unsavory items contained within (the most pleasant of which being dried bits of intestine and little jars of what looked to be human teeth), Yurielle let her mind wander back to thoughts of not only her Hourglass Mage, but also of her friends.

Raistlin's mood had improved since her little spring-time surprise she had concocted and arranged after her afternoon out with Jenna and Sisne. Her friends, dear as sisters or close cousins to her, were more like Yurielle in her mischief than the Archmage liked to admit. Even Dalamar could only roll his eyes at the trio when the three were found together 'cackling like hags' as he was wont to say. But the dark elf's eyes glittered with mirth at knowing what kind of things Yurielle was suddenly springing on the golden-skinned human and there were times he couldn't help but barb the Archmage with a comment or two.

Yurielle loved the camaraderie, loved the friendship and the relationships she was developing after a life of solitude and isolation. It was so different here than her life at Wayreth had been!

However, time with her friends was becoming less and less frequent as Jenna had finally reopened her shop. Right after which, Yurielle had managed to take a day away to help her friend there; loving to be surrounded by all kinds of fantastical items. But her own duties in helping Raistlin now kept her so busy that Yurielle hadn't seen much of her red-robed friend. Sisne was still her nosy self though. Her petite little form always flitting here and there as she made sure her fellow white-robes were adjusting to life in the Dark Tower and bossing her older brother, Head of their Order, around.

Now that spring was finally well underway Sisne's job was made easier, for many of the white-robes eagerly took to doing tasks in the greenhouse and stables. Soon, not only the area within the greenhouse but also within the fenced area around behind the Tower, was cultivated with new sprouts of both food and spell components. Sisne had even built new outdoor housing for the chickens and had the fences repaired and sectioned better for the animals to graze in once the grass began to grow.

Raistlin allowed the members of Solinari's Order to do as they wished with the animals and plants as long as it benefited the Tower as a whole. And benefit the Tower it did as the grounds around the base of it soon became alive with living things, both plant and animal. The result was a new and welcome sense of life and peace to those dwelling within even if a peek beyond the wall surrounding the courtyard revealed the looming Shoikan Grove.

Again, Yurielle loved the balance. Loved the contrast.

Life was good, Yurielle concluded as she searched for the wayward roll, taking her time and being fairly confident that Raistlin wouldn't come to check on her anytime soon. However, the fact that he had done so several times in a row today made her feel like he just might get into his mind to pop in quicker than she anticipated, so best make sure to hide her evidence fast.

Best he save his tongue lashings for other things...

Yurielle smiled to herself even as her face flushed red with these thoughts. Her Hourglass Mage very much enjoyed the things she had surprised him with after her girl's day out and he often made use of the items she had brought back with her. Raistlin's new skills had grown and the Archmage couldn't deny that her visits to the beauty salon for the occasional hair removal were a strange and welcome addition to their pleasure.

It took him some time to grow used to the idea, for he insisted that it wasn't necessary or even wanted. But after Raistlin had realized just how much his touch repeatedly drove Yurielle to new heights, he agreed that if it was what she wanted, then he'd put up no arguments.

Yurielle was already looking forward to another impromptu girl's day out. Spending time with her friends, pampering herself and doing some shopping, was something she had never had the pleasure of before in her life. She had never really taken the time for just _herself_ and the whole experience was something Yurielle never knew that she had needed. She had been dubious of Jenna's suggestion to visit a beauty parlor, but despite how uncomfortable it was to be attended by an elf she didn't know, Yurielle couldn't deny that her magical senses were on overload now whenever Raistlin touched her.

There would be more of that, oh most definitely!

Yes, life was good.

Yurielle was content and happy, more so than she had been in many, many long years.

Except... She paused in her search; that feeling of longing that was growing in her nagged once more.

Despite how good everything was, she knew that this longing had nothing to do with her lover and all to do with understanding her own magic. Not to mention the need to come to terms with her place in the world of wizards.

If she was being honest with herself, Yurielle felt a bit smothered by the arcane magic now that she could no longer access it. No amount of sex or affection from Raistlin could distract her from the constant tug on her being from the outside world, of the need to be out in Krynn, of drawing on and learning about her remaining magic; magic she had been forbidden for so long to learn about. Yurielle found that she longed to leave the Tower and to explore her connection to the ambient weave and just... live for _her_ magic for a change. Yurielle knew that _this_ was the key – to have time to focus out in the world in order to master and regain what she had lost.

But there just wasn't time right now...

She sighed longingly at the thought but didn't feel like her wants were as important as figuring out the future of the magehood and supporting Raistlin. Because of this, Yurielle kept these longings from the Archmage, just as she was sure he was keeping things from her.

She'd shine for those who walked in darkness and her beautiful, cursed Hourglass Mage needed her right now. And so, shine for him Yurielle did. Stand by him she would. Even if her heart longed to fly free from this Tower and find out more about what she could do.

However, until Raistlin was ready, the fledgling Sorceress did everything in her power to make him happy and endeavored to wait patiently until the right time to bring up her desires with him. At the same time, she hoped he'd open up more to her...

Yes, her lover's mood seemed content like hers. But Yurielle could sense something was simmering beneath Raistlin's golden mask. There were times she'd walk in on him to find the Archmage's gaze far off and abstract, as if he was lost in some deep memory.

Lost, or trying to find something.

And Yurielle could tell that it was not the look of trying to find something external. Raistlin was looking deep inside of himself and, more and more, Yurielle felt as though he was growing increasingly lost in the cavernous depths left behind by Fistandantilus.

That was the only way Yurielle could describe the look she saw in his eyes during those moments.

Raistlin was clearly preoccupied with his inner problems and was not ready for her to know of them. Thus, Yurielle had no way to properly bring them up or address them. Despite this, she knew that Raistlin would tell her if something was truly bothering him.

Or at least she hoped that he would.

Yurielle frowned to herself as she absently brushed aside some musty spell components. Not only was Raistlin's mind often preoccupied, but there were also other things that she was noticing about him that were beginning to become more frequent during these last few days.

Even seemingly happier, when a dark mood did descend upon Raistlin, it was dark indeed.

The Archmage had become more irritable at random times, snapping at the smallest things. Once in a while, a snide or belittling comment would slip out and when it'd pass his lips he'd clamp his mouth shut and utter an apology.

These moments were confusing to Yurielle, for she didn't understand them and, like his preoccupied episodes, Yurielle didn't know how to address them. So she let them pass by - writing it off as him dealing with the new pressures of being Highmage and his inner struggles with the absence of Fistandantilus.

That's what she told herself.

But sometimes, Yurielle wondered...

She sighed again and opened a new row of drawers, her search not as thorough as it should be as her mind wandered through this little area of her heart that made her uneasy. She knew these thoughts and feelings were becoming a bother as the days went on and neither one wanted to talk about them.

Raistlin was a private individual, this Yurielle knew. It was just a simple fact that he would never reveal _everything_ he thought and felt to her, even though she teased him about learning his secrets. He would always be full of them and Yurielle accepted this. She'd have him no other way than how he was - grumpy days and all.

With this thought, Yurielle laughed, the sound brightening the dim laboratory when no other magical light could. She began to hum to herself again as she opened yet another drawer, still unsuccessful in the search for the lost sticky roll.

Despite his secrets and occasional glum day, Yurielle knew that Raistlin _did_ seem happier overall. He continued to show affection and please her to her heart's content when in private. He continued to dote on her and bought her small, innocuous things he thought she might like or could use – the largest and her favorite being a new traveling set of charcoal sticks in a carved box adorned with stars and moons.

When they were near other people, Yurielle would catch him eyeing her like a love-struck teen who itched to meet her outback the first chance he got. Yurielle smiled at this, for though he teased her about her insatiable need for him, it was clear to her that he was just as thirsty for her.

However, that tiny tingle of unease stirred behind her breastbone, bringing up more questions and odd observations - the likes of which put a pall on all the seemingly perfect happiness and contentment. For even though their lovemaking was intense and plentiful and satisfying, there was something almost possessive in the Archmage's actions as of late.

Possessive and desperate.

Raistlin was clearly troubled by many things, the vacancy within him was one of them and Yurielle felt a cold dread that he only had her to fill it with. It was a strange thought to her, for Raistlin didn't seem the type to rely much on anyone.

But if this was what Raistlin needed right now, and how he needed to cope, then Yurielle would support him as best she could in whatever way he needed.

And again she had to be honest with herself, for she felt as though she may be doing the same with him...

The void left behind by her loss of arcane magic was like an ache that never completely left her. So much different from the ache of passion, this ache was pain and sadness - a hollow yearning that nothing filled.

Raistlin was magic and power. He hummed with it to her senses, smelled like it, and thrilled her with memories of _that_ magic. Magic that was familiar and comforting and was once one of the few things in life she could rely on.

Now everything was so different. Truly, it was the balance to offset her happiness.

“We really need to talk about a few things...” Yurielle murmured to herself while she opened a new draw and shoved aside a jar of bone ash.

After a moment Yurielle shook her head to clear the tumble of thoughts. At least, for now, they both seemed outwardly content as they felt their way through this new and uncertain life together, surrounded by their friends and colleagues.

And so Yurielle decided she would not push the subject, not until they were both _ready_ to talk about it.

Monumental things had happened in each of their lives and, in her mind, what harm was there in indulging in one another for just a little while? What harm was there in getting lost in each other, seeking solace and comfort to ease the worries within. Time would allow them to sort through their own thoughts and when ready, she knew they'd bring them to the other and share.

“Come out, come out where ever you are!” Yurielle sang as she brought her mind away from such pressing thoughts and instead remembered fondly how during the first few days of knowing one another Raistlin had pointed out how much Yurielle talked to herself. “If you only knew, Archmage,” she smiled, “but then again, you've probably figured it out on your own!”

Yes, Yurielle concluded again as she neared the last row of drawers in her slow, meandering search. Life was good right now even if it wasn't perfect. That's just how life was and it was better than she could ever have dreamed. So she'd take the uncertainty just as readily as the good and Yurielle knew that she and Raistlin had much to learn about one another. They also had much to learn _with_ one another... Their relationship was still relatively new after all.

But, in her heart, Yurielle couldn't fathom anything that could rip them apart now, for they had been through so much with one another in so short a time and their love had only grown stronger as a result.

Yurielle had willingly followed Raistlin Majere into the depths of the most terrifying place she could ever imagine, faced a being of ancient darkness and chose to shine for her Hourglass Mage through it all. Conversely, Raistlin had opened up to another human being. He allowed Yurielle to see past his golden mask when no other human had been allowed and let her see the man behind the magic and glimpse the fragile, lonely heart within. Above all, Raistlin had learned to love and embrace his humanity.

Their love, while new, was strong.

“HA!” Yurielle exclaimed in triumph when she finally located the hidden roll. It was in a drawer off to the side and much lower than she had suspected.

“Eww...” she groaned and wrinkled her nose as she pulled it from the depths of the dank drawer, a long string of thick cobweb stuck to the honey as did a fine layer of mold, dust, and dirt.

“Off with you now,” she said to the tiny spider that scurried away and dropped back into the drawer.

Now that she found the troublesome roll, Yurielle wondered where to put it. Finally, she decided the best place was to shove the ruined sweet back into her magical haversack with the others she secretly kept within. She'd deal with disposing it later.

After plopping it into the cavernous magical bag that rested on the floor next to her, Yurielle turned her attention back to where the spider was forlornly assessing its ruined web. “Sorry about that...” she said to the offended arachnid. “I didn't mean to wreck your home.”

Yurielle watched as the spider proceeded to grab a crumb and pull it to the edge of the bottom of the drawer. Then, to her surprise, it dropped through a large crack she hadn't noticed. “Hey! Where are you off too in such a hurry?!”

Looking under the open drawer Yurielle expected to see the spider continue down to the floor. She blinked in confusion, for there was no sign of it. Sitting back up, she peered into the shadows and saw that from her angle it appeared as though something was under the bottom of the wood where the spider had disappeared.

Using one spell that she had regained control of since losing her arcane magic, Yurielle summoned her magical ball of light into her hand. She kept the glowing orb small so that it fit easily in the tips of her fingers. Holding it inside the drawer Yurielle indeed thought she saw something cream-colored past the crack and it clearly wasn't the floor she was seeing, for her light didn't shine down through it.

Intrigued, Yurielle took out her small knife, the one enchanted with ice magic, and pried at the small slit between the bottom of the drawer and its side. She gasped when the wood moved slightly, shifting the contents of the drawer and proving to her that something was amiss.

“A false bottom?” she asked the little spider that again scurried away, displeased with her bright cheery light shining down into its hidden den.

Yurielle carefully emptied items within the drawer before lifting the wooden plank out and placing it on top of the desk. It was clear to her that it wasn't original to the desk itself, for now that it was in her light she saw that it was even a different kind of wood than the drawer itself. The amount of dust, dirt, and cobwebs was sufficient enough to hide this fact from anything but a thorough inspection.

Brushing the cobwebs away from the corners of the drawer Yurielle peered back inside carefully, leery of what she had uncovered. This desk was ancient and gods-only-knew what kind of things it could be holding that hadn't seen the light of day in centuries. She could have uncovered something cursed or fiend-bound for all she knew.

It was best to err on the side of caution.

Whispering forth her shield spell, something that seemed to be just a part of her more than an actual spell so that it came as second nature to her, Yurielle prepared to reach inside and remove the items that she saw lying at the very bottom of the deep, dark drawer. They looked to be simple pieces of folded paper, or envelopes perhaps.

At the last moment, she decided to see if she could mimic the arcane spell to detect magic. Her command of the ambient magic was still tedious but she was growing increasingly encouraged to find that her initial thoughts on how it worked were indeed correct. She only had to use the various elements in the room around her to shape the spells to her will. Bending and using light seemed to be what she was strongest in. The proof of this was how easily she could summon her dancing lights and even accidentally cast color spray without much effort.

Despite the fact that summoning light was easy for her, the real trick was figuring out how to shape the element to do things like this – to reveal hidden magic. What element could she use for such a thing? Her only thought again was light and air and so, concentrating again, Yurielle recalled to memory the way the spell used to feel when she once cast it using the arcane.

Now that she had sacrificed the privilege to wield the gods gifts Yurielle had only her will, intent, and focused discipline left to shape her magic in order to achieve the desired effects.

A moment later Yurielle felt the familiar flicker of magic run through her veins. It was both similar and different from the way the gods blessing used to hum in her body. Before, it was a thrilling gift with a sense of calm that she was worthy. Now the magic danced with a sense of self, for it came from within her and her connection to Krynn. It flowed outward from the cosmos and Yurielle knew that she was the focal point for the elements and it was up to her and her will to spin them into new and desired ways.

Smiling, Yurielle opened her eyes and saw that her spell had worked! She could make out runes along the desk and in the small radius in the room around her. But within the drawer itself, or on the papers inside, no magic glowed.

Still cautious, Yurielle gently touched the topmost paper and flicked it with her knife so that it flipped over. Holding her orb closer so that its light illuminated the whole of the drawer again she gasped.

It was indeed just an envelope.

Not just one, but several. Dozens maybe, she noted as she ran her knife along the edges of the stack.

But that was not what startled her the most...

Written on not only the top envelope, but more and more the farther she looked, were the words:

To: Raistlin Majere  
Master of the Tower of Sorcery  
Palanthas

And in the upper corner - written in the same barely legible handwriting as the mailing address- were the words:

From: Caramon Majere  
Inn of the Last Home  
Solace

With a trembling hand, Yurielle picked up the topmost envelope, probably the last that Raistlin had thrown in the drawer. It was yellowed, but not as yellowed as most of them were. Her eyes misted with tears when she saw it was still sealed with a small glob of brown wax.

Her heart cried aloud in agony when she read, written in Raistlin's familiar hand, the words beside the seal:

_**I have no brother.  
** _

_*****  
  
** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/29/20: Hopefully this chapter was interesting. We've gotten several introspective ones from Raistlin, but I thought Yurielle needed to sort through her thoughts as well. They're kind of a hot mess internally right now me thinks...
> 
> Anyway, I haven't been able to write anything new. Life's just terrible right now. But we're all in that boat I think eh?  
> But for me the last straw was seeing that Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman were 2 books into a BRAND NEW Dragonlance trilogy when Wizards of the Coast basically halted the whole deal this last August. The authors are now suing.  
> If you haven't seen that news, a simple google search will reveal it as well as there are lots of lawyers on Youtube that go through all the info if you are interested. 
> 
> That news just really got me down, ya know? The first book was basically approved and the second almost done. It just.... hurts.  
> Anyway, I'm trying to pull myself back into a creative space but all I've managed to do is start playing online mmo's again and hurt my neck once more with excessive computer use. >_<
> 
> The next chapter will hopefully be 11/12/20


	23. In the Fires of Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: If scenarios of domestic disputes (i.e. fights, arguing, and anything violent that could happen as a result) is upsetting for you then you might want to skip this chapter. Also, if you are having a bad day or struggling right now, I advise to also skip it for now until you are feeling better. I won't lie, it was rough to write and edit and has been a large source of anxiety for me lately as how it will be received/how many readers I may lose over this. But I'm to the point I need to post it - rip the bandaid off as it were - and get it over with. (Also, today's date of 11/11/2020 in numerology is a date of manifestation and transformation so it seemed fitting in an uncanny way. Yeah, I'm weird that way!)  
> I will have a summary of events at the end if you do chose to skip it. ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate that it seemed you were never enough  
> We were broken and bleeding but never gave up  
> And I hate that I made you the enemy  
> And I hate that your heart was the casualty  
> Now I hate that I need you...  
> ~Motionless in White - Another life

Yurielle burst through the door of Raistlin's study with the stack of unopened envelopes gripped tightly in her hand. The Archmage barely gave her the briefest glance from what he was working on as she stormed to the side of his desk.

“Done already, Yurielle?” Raistlin asked absently, the quill in his hand whispered gently across the vellum as he wrote.

It all shattered when Yurielle threw the envelopes down with a loud, resounding slap.

“What are these?!” she demanded.

Raistlin scowled at the glob of ink that splattered across the document he had been penning. Irritated, he glanced at what she insisted was so important to interrupt him with.

Yurielle saw that he knew instantly what she had discovered as he looked up at her face.

“Where did you find those?” Raistlin asked in a dark voice, his eyes narrowing.

“ANSWER ME!” Yurielle demanded, ignoring the look on his face that would have warned most people to abandon this endeavor.

“They're envelopes containing letters from my brother,” he said coldly.

“Yes! And you've never opened them!” she exclaimed, her chest heaved with barely contained emotion and her hands trembled in clenched fists at her sides.

Raistlin continued to glare at Yurielle, unmoved by her emotional display. “No. Why should I?”

“Because they're from your BROTHER!” she cried, slamming the palms of her hands on the surface of the desk with another loud slap, jostling the inkwell and sending more dark liquid to splatter onto the papers.

Raistlin sat back and growled angrily as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yurielle you-”

“NO!” she cut him off. “You look at me and you _TELL ME_! Tell me why you've never read them!”

“Because they're from my _brother_ ,” Raistlin said again, their eyes locking. “Obviously,” he added tersely as if it were clear that was reason enough to not open the envelopes. He watched then as Yurielle slowly took a breath, she was trembling and tears threatened to overtake her eyes. Her fists bunched her robe at her hips as if she were holding back the desire to throw something. Raistlin was sure that he had never seen her so upset but he had zero time nor mood to deal with this.

“Yurielle,” he continued quietly with a cold hint of warning in his voice, “we have talked about how I have made my decision on the matter. Caramon has no place in my life and I will not interfere with wherever he is now...”

“He's in Solace!” she snapped at him, pointing at the topmost envelope where the address was clearly written. “He's in Solace and _still_ writing to you! And you've been ignoring him!?”

“Yes, what of it?” he snapped back. “Why does it matter?”

“Why does it matter?! Look at all these letters! How could you do this to your twin!” Tears were now gathering on Yurielle's lashes as she was unable to hold back her... her, what?

Raistlin saw disappointment.

“I have no brother,” Raistlin said calmly, coldly; everything inside of him recoiling involuntarily in response to the look of horrified disappointment in her eyes. The room grew dark and chill, the air between the two lovers frigid.

“Do you have any idea...” Yurielle said quietly, her voice thick yet terribly even, “...what I would give to receive a letter from my twin? Do you even know what this feels like, to not hear a word from her? Especially now, now that I don't know if she's alive or dead?! If she's being tortured by that... that _thing_!”

At those words something else within Raistlin recoiled, becoming defensive. That _thing_... that _thing..._ the words echoed around the Archmage, twisting and constricting within him.

'That thing' was what his own soul was a part of.

Was that all he was to her as well?

In response to her anger, to her judgment, Raistlin instinctively wrapped himself in his old, emotionless skin. It felt strange after all this time of warmth and affection with Yurielle. But it was the only armor he had worn through the years to face such trials and Raistlin knew that he'd need it now.

Especially against her.

Raistlin forced himself to not lose his temper, for he knew that screaming with her would do no good. This was a volatile subject; one in which they both stood on opposite ends of a wide chasm.

“My Star,” he spoke her pet name and Yurielle flinched at the snake-like softness to his voice, “my brother is _not_ your sister. What love we once had is long gone. Let it be,” he demanded. “Go back upstairs and finish your task. I will discuss this no more with you until you have calmed yourself!”

Yurielle's face was drawn and pale; stunned by his cold dismissal. “He doesn't feel that way...” she said softly, sadly. “He still writes to you, Raistlin. He still longs for you! How can you ignore your own blood?!”

With a quick jerk of his hand, Raistlin gathered the letters up and threw them into a drawer next to him as if removing them from his sight would be enough. “They come fewer and fewer with each passing year,” he said darkly, his golden face an angry scowl. “Eventually, he will give up and I'll be dead to him as well. He doesn't need me and I don't need him!”

“Do you _still_ hate him so?” Yurielle said in a trembling whisper and the pain woven in the words nearly pierced through the Archmage's unfeeling armor.

Almost.

Slowly Raistlin met Yurielle's gaze. “I loathe him...” he said evenly. His words were cold despite his eyes blazing at her.

Something dangerous and dark swam behind those hourglass pupils like a memory of what this man could be and Yurielle tried to smother the gasp that escaped her lips in response to his harsh words, to the empty, void-like look in his eyes. “You don't mean that.” Her hands were at her lips, trembling against her pallid skin.

“I do.”

They stared at one another; suddenly both seemed like a stranger in the other's eyes.

“I... I knew you could be cold,” her voice was small, being forced through the barrier of her hands, “I knew you could be cruel. But this... This is too much, Raistlin.”

“And what is 'too much', Yurielle?” he asked. “Are you really surprised by this? I've been nothing but honest with you about my feelings in regards to my twin this whole time. It does not lay on my shoulders that _you_ kept the truth from yourself.”

“No...” Yurielle breathed. “I'm not, Raistlin, I just-”

“Just what?” Raistlin asked quietly and watched his lover lose her words and flounder before him. Involuntarily his eyes were drawn to the small, crystal bowl on the corner of his desk. Within were the remains of the rose petals from several nights ago; drying flakes of white and pink whose fragrance still lingered to remind them both of what they shared.

But all Raistlin saw in his gaze were withering piles of ash and all of a sudden every petal seemed so meaningless... They were just empty mementos of fleeting moments, same as the envelopes now discarded in his desk.

“It's not my fault that _you_ refuse to see that all this time there were thorns on the rose you hold so tightly to...” Raistlin said quietly, his eyes darted back to Yurielle. “You say you accept me – my faults, my darkness and all - yet you _balk_ when the truth rears its head?!” He sneered, his face twisting in response to the look on her face. “I have many thorns, Yurielle, and unless you acknowledge they are there, the deeper they will cut the more you squeeze.”

Yurielle tried to shake her head, tried to deny it as his words dug deep like said thorns. “Caramon loves you and misses you... and you _ignore_ him just because you say you have no use for him? Why?”

Raistlin's emotional armor cracked slightly as he looked at his lovers' pain, but he hardened himself.

She _couldn't_ understand.

Not in this.

“This is my life, Yurielle,” Raistlin said, his voice still low and lethal. “What you are feeling - this pain, this sadness, this pitiful compassion for a relationship you know nothing of - is not for you, so let it go. I cut my twin from my life years ago. Caramon is gone and we are both better for it. Accept my wishes on this.”

“You cut him out of your life only to fill it with me... is that it, Raistlin?” she asked quietly.

Raistlin's eyes flashed angrily, pulling another gasp from Yurielle. He grew still as they stared at one another and as his cursed eyes pierced through her, trying to deny the truth of her words. Raistlin saw Yurielle shrink away from his gaze - a rabbit trapped next to a venomous snake, deep within his den she had first been so fearful of. At the look of fear in her eyes, Raistlin knew then that Yurielle hadn't meant to say those words. But, as per usual, her mouth acted before her brain, spilling a secret thought to him.

A secret thought that made the snake within twist upon itself - cutting off his emotions, his heart.

“And yet you stay with me,” he replied simply, his insides going cold and numb and vacant of feeling as he suddenly realized something deep and profound: Yurielle never lied to him. _Never_ , not once. But, oh how she held her own thoughts deep inside where he could not see them!

Raistlin saw plainly that Yurielle was well aware that she was the one thing he clung to in his life to keep from drowning in the vast sea of darkness and evil he swam through. She was his light, his beacon, but to where she was leading him, Raistlin Majere suddenly had no idea. His eyes narrowed as they tore through her, dissecting every flinch and twitch of her face and body. Remorse and fear were displayed there on her pretty face, but so too was that stubbornness to rival his own, that strong will that would somehow find a way to get what she wanted.

Yet what did this Yurielle standing in front of him want? Raistlin asked himself as her face slowly drained of all color - leaving her a pale ghost in his eyes - as the silence stretched on and on between them.

Yes... Raistlin saw it so clearly now: Yurielle held onto him as tightly as he did her. The Archmage then understood then that they both had thorns. His were dark, black, twisted, and deep-rooted things while hers were delicate and untested, but still so very clever and sharp.

And how quickly those thorns became poisonous!

Suffocating, judgmental, defensive; the snake that was released from some long-ignored corner inside Raistlin coiled tighter – ready to strike.

“You stay,” he continued quietly, his voice that lethal whisper she had only heard during those first days of their meeting, “because you need _me_ to fill the hole left behind in your own life, Yurielle. You have no sister, no family. You're an outcast in the magical world and would be hunted if not for the safety of this Tower and _my_ protection!” Raistlin sneered when his words struck home and Yurielle's eyes widened, deep blue pools that reflected the magical orbs in the room back to him.

Fading stars trapped in the void...

“Deny it,” he growled.

Yurielle only stood there, eyes shimmering with tears, for once she had no voice as her insides went numb and cold. All she managed was a small, stunned shake of her head.

“Is this all we are then?” Raistlin's voice was hollow in the room after moments of deafening silence. “Are we just a crutch for the other right now, Yurielle? Both of us too pathetic to live our own lives, blinded by lust and destiny and caught in the flow of this timeline?”

“You don't mean that...” she said again, her voice nothing but a squeak.

“Don't I?” he asked hotly, anger swelling inside him further that he was so blind to this, this _weakness_! “We can't escape one another. We can't live without the other! You need me and I need you!”

“This isn't about us!” she cried, finally finding her voice. “Please, Raistlin, don't say these things... I know things have been difficult lately but-”

“Oh, yes this _is_ about us!” he laughed bitterly, cutting her off. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. The cold knot in his gut grew as suspicion threatened to pull him under.

Yurielle had been placed here by his god-self and for the first time, Raistlin asked himself if she was here to save him or to twist him into something worse than what he had become on that other timeline.

The gods were cruel and apparently, he was the worst of them all.

“Don't change the subject, Majere!” Yurielle said, her voice choked as she clung to her stubbornness. She had to do something to guide him away from his line of thinking. “We're talking about your brother! How you refuse to see how still he loves you!” she added hotly, her anger at him reigniting. “How can you ignore someone who obviously still cares for you?!”

“I didn't change it, Yurielle, you did,” he hissed back. “You claim, over and over, that you love this dark thing that I am. But when faced with my truths – the Lives Ones, my brother – you run or find a way to brush it off. Then you say the one thing that has been on both our minds...” He took a menacing step toward her, his eyes gleaming and again she shrank away from him.

“I see it in your eyes,” he said and grasped her chin in his fingers, holding her still as his gaze tore through her. “You know that you are nothing without me, just as I am nothing without you. We fill our being with each other, thinking that love makes us stronger,” he growled, his face almost unrecognizable to Yurielle as he released her from his grasp. “But in truth, it's a weakness - this pitiful addiction!”

Yurielle shook her head at him; her eyes shimmered with tears, all her anger extinguished. “Why are you saying this?” she whispered, unable to accept that everything had suddenly gone so horribly wrong. She had seen Raistlin bitter and angry and resentful, but never like this, and never directed at _her_. She couldn't fathom where this anger was coming from or what had sparked it and she didn't understand how her bringing up his twin had ignited such hostile suspicion, such loathing and defensiveness.

All of a sudden nothing made sense. Everything had become twisted and turned inside out!

Was this what dealing with Raistlin was like for other people? He had a way with words, had a way to get inside the mind and redirect as well as manipulate to suit his whims. A cold knot filled Yurielle's gut. _'He wouldn't do that to me!'_ her mind screamed at her. Surely, he didn't mean these things! Raistlin was scared or whatever was on his mind had been festering inside him more than she suspected. Some dark thought had taken root and grown in the shadows, the vines were now choking everything else nearby, Yurielle was sure of it.

“Raistlin, what's wrong? This isn't you...” she said, taking a step back from him and his terrifying visage.

For a fraction of a heartbeat her handsome, Hourglass Mage was gone. In his place was a writhing mass of shadow and anger, the darkness wheeling around the void of nothing where his heart should be bloomed open like the petals of a black rose. Similar to her actions within her vision, Yurielle wanted to reach out and hold that terrifying mass of pain against her heart and make it right... Only, it wasn't a rose Yurielle was trying to hold onto she suddenly realized - It was a constrictor vine! And all the petals fell between her fingers, raining down like black flecks of ash to taint everything around them.

“Do I lie?” Raistlin asked, looming over her again like some terrible golden statue. “Look at us! We sit here safe in our Tower while others do the work for us so we can whisper sweet words to one another as we sate our bodies again and again!” The words tumbled out of him and Raistlin didn't even know where they all came from; but in his blind, panic-stricken rage he did not hold back.

Every dark thought, every suspicion and insecurity flew from his mouth, unfiltered and unchecked. Yurielle had been his one anchor through these weeks of uncertainty, his one solace. Yet here she stood, demanding that he love his brother when all he wanted was to cut his past from his memories. All he wanted was to sever every tie that bound him to days he could no longer properly remember and to erase actions that he was now beginning to regret.

What else did she want from him?

Who was he?

The Archmage's mind screamed and echoed in the void within and at that moment Raistlin didn't know, for all he saw was Yurielle inside him.

Raistlin Majere didn't exist right now. He was empty, hollow. Without Fistandantilus he was just a shell with no purpose, a vessel that had no meaning! And it made him furious that he had allowed himself to be diminished so, to become so reliant on someone else.

Those beautiful indigo eyes were rimmed with tears - like glittering stars on the edge of falling - when he said coldly, “Ask it, Yurielle. I see the question burning within you. Say the words, free them, so that I can know where we stand.”

Yurielle tried to swallow through the giant lump in her throat, tried to wet her lips but her mouth was dry. She stared into his eyes - golden, cursed, _beloved_ – yet right now they belonged to a stranger.

Who was this Raistlin in front of her?

Yurielle didn't know. All she knew was that this man frightened her. Raistlin _never_ frightened her and because of this, Yurielle had no idea what to do. She was floundering, fading, and for once completely unsure of how she should shine...

Raistlin wanted to know what her thoughts were but there was only one question that now burned within her soul in this moment. Yurielle wasn't even sure if the question was for this man in front of her, or if it was for the god that allowed her to be. So, in her uncertainty, her confusion, Yurielle gave her question wings: “You cast brother aside when you had no use for him...” she said, her voice small, empty, “Will you do the same with me?” A tear rolled down her cheek - a star fallen. “Will I be nothing to you someday as well?”

Raistlin winced at the simple question as her soft voice cut through him, tearing and wounding and drawing blood, but it spoke volumes to him. In its simplicity, her question showed the Archmage how Yurielle viewed him, _still_ to this day.

“You think so lowly of me?” he murmured, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “After all we've been through you would judge me so quickly? You would think me so careless of the heart _you_ gave back to me?”

Raistlin eyed Yurielle up and down from the tips of her shoes peeking out from the hem of her long blue robe to the braided coil of golden-tipped hair gathered and pinned carefully at the top of her head. She was beautiful to him, as always, but something was tainted now... Her words had hurt him deeply, deeper than he had ever thought something could ever reach within his splintered soul, and Raistlin Majere knew this wound would leave a nasty scar.

“No,” Yurielle moaned, heartbroken. “No, it's not like that! I just... I just don't know you right now, Raistlin...”

“No. No, you _don't_ know me...” he repeated darkly. “And this is what I've been saying all along. You're blind to who and what I really am. You say you love this shell of a man before you. You say you will light my path, and yes, I'll admit it, you have.” Raistlin glared down at her, his face terrible to look upon.

Yurielle's insides twisted, for again it brought to mind the face of his corrupt god-self she had seen in her visions. And that god was about to crush her in his vast palm, send her essence beyond space and time to do his bidding...

“Here you are, my salvation!” Raistlin cried, making her flinch as he gestured to her, palm outstretched like that terrible god. “And I never had a choice. YOU never had a choice either, Yurielle, and you just accept this so easily!”

“There's _always_ a choice, Raistlin!” she managed to cry through her tears.

He scoffed at her and shook his head. “Yes,” he hissed, “and you chose _me!_ Do you regret it now?” he asked savagely. “Do you regret saving this?” Raistlin clutched a thin hand against the front of his robes as if he would tear the fabric off. “You chose _me_ over your dear sister and now my loathing for my twin disgusts you so!?

“Yes, Caramon still writes to me,” Raistlin continued, ignoring the look in Yurielle's eyes; one that threatened to flay him open and wound him further.

He was angry.

Worse than angry...

How _dare_ she find those letters!?

How dare she demand of him to love anyone else!? Was loving her not enough?!

“I will not read his words because that is _my_ choice!” he said, his voice like acid. “And I will tell you that I don't care what that choice does to him and I don't care that it hurts _you_! Your opinion doesn't matter because I will _never_ care about Caramon Majere!”

The silence that descended after his proclaimed shriek threatened to break the Tower in two as the lovers stared at one another. Something had shifted between them. Something deep and sacred that neither even knew existed was now damaged.

It lay between them, bleeding and hurt and raw.

“If you truly didn't care, Raistlin...” Yurielle said quietly, tears streaming down her face, “then you would have burned those letters.”

Rage flared inside the Archmage at her words, evaporating the numbing ice in his veins.

The coiling snake inside his being stirred and reared up, pushing aside all the things that he had learned from her these past months. All warmth left the gold hue of his eyes, all the gentleness that Yurielle could always find on his serious face vanished like a dying heartbeat.

Raistlin glared at her with anger blazing in those strange orbs and he silently cursed the day that he had found this woman, for she was right.

She was _always_ right!

The way she was able to convey any truth so simply was sometimes maddening!

Flinging open the drawer so hard he tore the knob off, Raistlin grabbed the stack of envelopes in his hands and stalked around the desk. With a flick of his fingers, the fire in the hearth roared to life so suddenly that the room became unbearably hot, reflecting the intensity of his anger.

“No!” Yurielle breathed as Raistlin marched around her. She knew what he meant to do as he practically shoved her aside to get past her and reach the blazing hearth. Flames were licking around the edges of the stone, blackening the marble and sending sparks up to play amongst the items on the mantel like angry fireflies.

“NO!” Yurielle screamed and flung herself at Raistlin as he passed. Her sudden weight against him made the Archmage stagger long enough for her to grab him around his body and get a firm hold on him.

“Please, NO!” Yurielle shrieked as Raistlin tried to free himself from her grasp.

Raistlin managed to shove her off of him; most of the envelopes scattered from his hands as he did.

Yurielle fell to the floor with a cry, landing hard. With trembling hands, she grabbed as many of the letters as she could save.

“You really think you know me, Yurielle, is that it?” Raistlin asked, his voice was cold and flat and so terribly, terribly empty. “You think that loving me has truly changed who and what I am?”

Turning to the fire he threw an envelope in, ignoring her cries for him to stop. “My brother is DEAD to me!” he screamed at her as he threw in another. “I do not need him in my life anymore! Do you understand?”

Another letter flared and curled; devoured in the inferno that echoed Raistlin's smothering anger.

“You're so smart and clever, aren't you, little Yurielle?” he hissed. “You're right. I have filled the void without my twin, without Fistandantilus, with _you!_ ” He laughed bitterly in her face and threw another envelope into the fire. “Is that what you want to be, Yurielle? My succor? Is that what gives you purpose?” He threw another letter in, it ignited and vanished in a shower of sparks.

“I don't need you,” another letter turned to ash, “I don't need him!” One more vanished in the flames. “You're both just a waste of my time!”

Yurielle's sobs pounded against Raistlin's heart and the cage he had hastily erected around himself as if trying to find a way inside again. The sound of her tears rang within the empty cavity of Raistlin's body as he turned the letters from his twin to ash and his own words flayed both himself and his beloved open. The blood flowed freely from their hearts and souls, threatening to drown them in bitterness and anger.

Raistlin Majere didn't care. He didn't _need_ to care!

“If you think you've truly changed me by loving me then you are a _fool_!” Raistlin yelled at her as he tossed another letter into the fire. The paper ignited, disappearing in a wisp of curling smoke. “A serpent with a heart is still just as poisonous as any thorn, my sweet Yurielle!” he sneered and the last letter in his hands joined the rest. It flared and died with a hiss. “It's not my fault that you refuse to see me for what I am!”

By now Yurielle had curled in on herself into a fetal position upon the rug on the floor, clutching the small stack of rescued envelopes against her bosom, shielding them from Raistlin and his terrible anger. She was sobbing into the plush woolen threads, her face pressed against Nuitari's moon woven there. Her cries of anguish were so different than those cries of pleasure she had first made on this very rug.

The Archmage ignored the fleeting memory just as he ignored her current cries and, like some blackened shadow, descended to crouch next to her and tried to pry her arms open in an attempt to free the remaining letters.

“NO!” Yurielle exclaimed, terrified. Raistlin's hands were like hot iron on her arms as he attempted to force them apart.

“Let go of them, Yurielle!” he demanded.

Sobbing, she tried to roll away from the Archmage and his terrible wrath. “Please, Raistlin, stop this!” She kicked at him in an attempt to shove him off her. “You don't mean it! You don't mean it!” she cried over and over.

“Give them to me!” he yelled at her in a voice that was dreadful to hear.

The sound of Raistlin's voice made Yurielle's insides wither as he continued to pry at her arms. His hands felt as if they burned her skin, his touch painful now – so opposite of how it usually felt to her senses. She tried to pull away, for she knew that she was stronger than he was but in his anger, Raistlin was winning this physical contest with sheer force of will.

Such terrible, indomitable will.

Still, Yurielle would not give up in the face of her lover's rage, for her own will was just as strong. Where Raistlin Majere's was fueled by the demons wrought by years of bitterness and resentment, Yurielle's was forged by her role to be the voice for others, by her need to understand and show compassion where needed.

And so Yurielle fought desperately to save these tiny mementos from her lover's twin. Raistlin obviously didn't see how these simple things mattered, didn't realize what they stood for.

But Yurielle did.

These were the threads to Raistlin's being, to his soul that was _not_ a part of Fistandantilus. Caramon was _Raistlin's_ twin, he was his other half, and the fact that he so callously ignored him was abhorrent to Yurielle.

Her twin was lost to her, but she'd be damned if she'd let him lose his!

In his attempt to get her to drop the letters, Raistlin knocked Yurielle's legs away with one hand and grabbed hold of one of her arms again and squeezed as he tried to pull it away from her body. Her hair had come loose during their fight, the tangle of braided ends falling around her as they wrestled on the floor in a tangle of sobs and curses.

The rabbit, finally realizing she had been cornered by the viper, did the one thing she felt left to her - Yurielle bit Raistlin on the wrist as his grip tightened like a vise.

Hard.

In a reaction born of instinct more than thought, Raistlin's other hand sailed through the air in response to the pain shooting up his arm. It wasn't a well-aimed blow, but the backside of his hand landed across the side of Yurielle's face.

The face he treasured above anything in life.

With a startled cry Yurielle fell to the floor, holding one hand to her burning cheek as the other still grasped the wrinkled and half-torn envelopes to her breast. Her eyes were wide and disbelieving, tears frozen mid-fall on her face as if time had stopped.

The silence was deafening.

Raistlin also froze, horrified by what he had done, all his anger forgotten and extinguished by the sickening revulsion that he had struck her. The sound of his hand hitting skin and bone rang through the emptiness inside of him as the fire in the hearth winked out and the smell of burning paper and tears filled the room.

“Yurielle...” he breathed, horror-struck, “I... I'm sorry...” He went to kneel beside her.

Yurielle shrank away from him, moving across the floor on her haunches like a terrified animal. “DON'T TOUCH ME!” she shrieked as she moved towards the door. “Never...” her breathing was harsh and panicked as she crawled, “you will _never_ touch me again!”

Once she had retreated out of his range, Yurielle gathered herself up off the floor. Raistlin watched her in silence. He found that he couldn't move, his body had gone numb - cold and empty and raw.

“Never... again....” she sobbed and fled the room, not looking back.

Raistlin did nothing but watch her go.

It felt like his heart had gone out with her, for there was nothing left inside of him.

Every word he had said to Yurielle in his blind anger flooded back to Raistlin. Colder than a glacier and darker than the void those words had been hurtful, bitter, and full of anger long suppressed through the years.

All Yurielle had done was shed light on the place where Raistlin had shoved his thoughts and feelings about his twin, but her declaration and demand that he acknowledge his brother had ignited the brittle kindling of fragile memories that Raistlin had packed around that part of him. Her accusation and judgment, whether intended or not, had caused the flames to become an inferno of anger that Raistlin had not been able to control.

And in that loss of control had been unleashed a monster that was vile enough to question and wound the only thing that was important to him.

Raistlin Majere stared down at his empty palms as suffocating silence descended upon him. For a split moment in time, he saw his vast hand clench together and shatter the very last thing that mattered...

What had he done?

Master of the Past and Present, he had once been called. Nuitari himself had said that it was his soul to learn the secrets of the flow of time, but in this moment Raistlin Majere would bleed every drop of blood within him to rewind the last few minutes and take back what he had said, take back that he had hit Yurielle.

He would reverse that he had cruelly crushed her so...

Master of the Past and Present, yet Raistlin was truly Master of Nothing if he had allowed himself to succumb to all the things that festered in the dark corners of his being. What kind of man used them to hurt the ones he loved?

Dropping his eyes to the floor, Raistlin saw that one envelope had fallen from Yurielle's arms as she fled. With a shaking hand, he reached out and picked it up.

Scrolled across the wrinkled surface of the envelope were the words, written in his own handwriting: _**I have no brother.**_

Tears stung the Archmage's eyes, his breath caught and stuck in his lungs, threatening to smother and devour him from within.

It was the letter he had meant to send back the day he put his brother to the side in order to follow Fistandantilus' desire to become a god.

It was the day he had descended into a dark crypt and met a shining star.

But now his Star was gone.

Only the Darkness remained.

****  


****  
Link to song for the lyrics above is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ELRMb4pliY&ab_channel=JerichoDMA).  
NOTE:I don't think I ever mentioned that I try to post lyrical videos (if the official video has no subtitles) in the event that a reader may be hearing impaired.  
So feel free to find official videos if you wish. The one for this song is particularly good.  
Collage includes photos from Pinterest as well as Ruslan Gerasimenko as Raistlin from the Russian Musical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/11/20: - please read notes after summary  
> SUMMARY: Yurielle confronts Raistlin with the stack of letters from Caramon, demanding his reasons for never opening and reading them. His cold dismissal and heartless responses horrify her and conversely Raistlin feels she is judging him after all this time of her knowing how he feels on the matter regarding his brother. Words are said, accusations made - Yurielle voices Raistlin's own inner struggles, that he is merely filling the hole in his life with her. Raistlin insists he doesn't care about Caramon and Yurielle returns with "If you didn't care, you would have burned those letters." In uncontrolled anger Raistlin does just that, storming to the fireplace with the letters in hand. Yurielle attempts to stop him, managing to free a few letters in the process. The others, however, Raistlin throws in the flames, screaming at her while she weeps on the floor. Raistlin then tries to retrieve the remaining letters that Yurielle holds in her arms. They wrestle on the floor and Raistlin's touch as he squeezes and pulls on Yurielle's arm is painful enough and she, in desperation, bites him on the arm. In reflex Raistlin's free hand strikes her across the cheek. Yurielle runs from the room, leaving Raistlin alone with what he's done. One letter fell from her arms, the one with 'I have no brother' written across the back. - END SUMMARY
> 
> I want to say a few things about this chapter. First, I'm sorry if it was upsetting, but something needed to be a catalyst to shed light on many issues with the two lovers. It was hard to write and I've been working on it for months and months and this is how it played out. I struggled a lot with Raistlin hitting her and nearly scrapped it but I believe that most scenarios come out onto the page as I write them for reasons I can't yet foresee so, ultimately, I felt like this moment was an important shifting point. But PLEASE NOTE: I do not condone physical abuse of any kind and my purpose of including this is not to romanticize it or glorify it or even to use it as a plot device. I'm coming at it from a place that in the heat of the moment even the most level headed of people can lose control and do things they would never in a million years do. Was it right for Yurielle to bite him after pleading with him to stop? No. Was it okay that Raistlin struck her, even if it was reactionary? Absolutely not. The point is, shit happens. Now the characters need to pick up the pieces and move on if they can.  
> So yeah, here we are... how do we proceed?  
> Initially my plans were to mirror Raistlin's anger with a Caramon chapter so readers can see how the two men are entangled emotionally with each other. They are linked in many ways and I wanted to reflect this aspect as soon as possible. But I also know that after this chapter readers will more than likely need to know ASAP what happens with R&Y.  
> So I'll let you chose your own adventure here as recompense -Do you want me to continue as planned? Get the Caramon chapter over with so we don't have to go through yet another emotional chapter in a few weeks? Or return to Raistlin and Yurielle next and endure another rollarcoaster of emotions right after?  
> Your thoughts and feelings on this chapter will be appreciated and I'll take them into account. Again if you don't wish to leave a comment, my email is in my profile as is my discord ID. I'm braced and ready for your reactions >_<  
> if any...  
> Depending on responses, I'll try to post on 11/19/20 to not make you wait 2 weeks.  
> Thank you again for reading. It can't be roses and sunshine all the time but I do worry that I might be pushing boundaries once in a while...  
> Things will be okay. I promise ♥


	24. A Chasm Filled with Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read notes after the chapter

Yurielle bolted from Raistlin's study, ran to her old chamber, and slammed the door shut. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see through the tears flooding her eyes. Her head hurt and her cheek stung from Raistlin's blow.

But it wasn't that the blow had hurt so much, it was his words that had wounded her the most. The pain came because _he_ had done it; _he_ had said all those things.

Her Raistlin...

And with his words and his actions, Yurielle was destroyed. But the worst pain of it was that he spoke only the truth to her.

Raistlin Majere - cold, blunt, honest - had said nothing that Yurielle hadn't already asked herself at one point or another. It frightened her how easily he had exposed them both, how their words had torn down everything they built together and thrown it aside like some useless child's toy.

Had she been wrong about their love all along? Was she wrong to continue to stand and shine for him?

Was her time here over?

Running to her old wardrobe, Yurielle took out a bag that still sat at the bottom and threw all of the remaining envelopes inside. She would save these last shreds of his connection to his twin; save _something_ of his life if this man she loved was so lost himself. Dizzily she began to throw her extra, forgotten clothes into the sack above the letters, sobbing so hard she could barely stand as she worked.

Love Raistlin Majere or not, Yurielle had to get out of this Tower!

She couldn't, wouldn't stay with him - her heart-sick clouded mind concluded – not while there was so much anger. The thought of leaving Raistlin made her sick inside but if he so disregarded his own flesh and blood, then how long would it take for him to no longer wish to keep her by his side?

He had never answered her question – whether he would cast her aside someday like his twin. Raistlin had turned it back against her without voicing an answer. Perhaps that was answer enough... That thought was all she could think of as she hastily threw everything that remained in this abandoned room into her bag. It wasn't much, but it seemed to be more than what she had when she had first arrived here.

Within the bag were clothes that she had bought and nearly paid for with her life on the winter streets of Palanthas. Her eyes darted to her old bed where she had laid, helpless and wounded and then sick with poison. Raistlin had tenderly cared for her, had sat by her side for hours on end and during that time, Yurielle was sure that their love had started to take root. Then after the fight with the Conclave, the two of them had slept together in this same bed. There wasn't anything sexual about it, just comfort.

Raistlin Majere, still tethered to Fistandantilus, had calmed her sadness then, had held her in his arms and soothed her with the same blunt honesty as he had shown her in the other room just now.

Many mages had died that day, but not them. They had survived and that was all that had mattered. But what began to grow then had seemingly died today. In its place, something dark and bitter and secret had been dragged into the light and was now smothering everything she thought she knew.

Yurielle felt as if the love she had for Raistlin was in its death throes, breaking every rib in her chest as her heart fell apart.

They had been through so _much_ together! How had it fallen apart so easily? Was this all it took, a few ugly truths to unravel it all?!

Yurielle had helped to free Raistlin from his tormentor but he still had so much cruelty within him that sometimes, it frightened her. He accused her of filling her meaninglessness with him, just as she accused him of filling his void with her.

The truth hurts the worst when said out loud.

Looking around as she closed her bag, Yurielle still saw a few items forgotten in the back of the wardrobe. Some old shirts and stockings, the large wad of black cloth she had meant to make into robes as well as other things that Raistlin hadn't thought important to bring when he had moved her items into his chambers. Knowing she didn't have long, she decided to leave them.

Let him burn them as carelessly as his cruelty had burned what they had forged over the past few months. Let it all burn if everything meant so little to him like his twin's letters!

Turning to leave, Yurielle let out a strangled gasp, the bag in her hands dropped to the floor.

Raistlin stood in her doorway, blocking the way.

“Let me go!” she cried.

“Yuri...” he pleaded and closed the door as he entered. He turned back, his hands out at his sides, palms up, pleading. Those hands were so very different from that wrathful gods' that would so easily crush her. These hands were human and they belonged to a broken, lost man. “Please, don't...”

“What are you going to do? Force me to stay? Make me your prisoner?” she screamed at him, full of hurt and confusion. “Tie me up in the basement and force me to live there like you did the Live Ones?!”

Raistlin flinched as her words cut deep. After he recovered, he took a slow step towards her. “Yurielle, don't do this. Please, let's talk before you overreact...”

Yurielle knew that he was again only speaking the truth, only pointing out her tendencies. When cornered, she usually did overreact.

So be it!

Right now she was panicked and knew that she didn't do well when faced with such things. But what he thought she capable of, Yurielle had no idea. Her magic - as fickle, untested, and unknown as it was now - was pathetically weak compared to his! There was nothing she could do save beat him over the head with her bag filled with letters and clothes in an attempt to get around him. Even then, she knew she didn't have the strength for even that. Hell, she'd probably fall down the steps at this point, unable to see but a few feet in front of her as tears streamed down her face.

But one thing was for certain, she had to leave. She had to get out of this Tower! The arcane magic was suffocating her and the cruelty that was unleashed here had tainted everything her eyes touched, every memory she had wrapped around her heart.

She was intent on leaving even though she had nowhere to go.

So one way or the other, she had to get past Raistlin.

Yurielle shook her hand at her side, blue sparks danced along her fingers as she summoned her tenuous grasp of her fledgling wild-magic. “One more step, Majere, and I swear...!”

“That trick won't work on me the second time, Yuri,” he said softly.

“Don't call me that! You have no right if you would so disown your own twin!” she cried, her words desperate, her eyes darting around the room looking for a way out. “Will I be just like him to you someday?! Once you grow tired of me, will you just ignore me too? You didn't answer my question!”

“Yurielle, you know I would never-”

“DO I?!” she screamed.

“Please...” his voice was soft and sad as he took another step closer. “Don't leave with so much anger. Don't threaten to hurt yourself. I won't let you.”

“I'm not going to hurt myself,” she shot at him angrily, trying to hold onto something to use against him. “But something _will_ happen if you keep coming closer!” The sparks in her palm glowed brighter but she made no move to raise it towards him this time. Yurielle just watched Raistlin warily, her mind racing to find a way past him. Perhaps she could distract him by-

Yurielle's eyes widened, her breath froze in utter disbelief as Raistlin's golden skin suddenly winked out of existence.

Gone was the metallic sheen, gone its yellow-gold tint. The tiny sparks of magic that danced around him like ethereal fireflies vanished. He stood before her, skin pale as milk.

His eyes stayed the same - still gold and haunted and cursed.

And so very, very sad.

“Do it, Yurielle,” Raistlin commanded softly in his whispering, broken voice. “Whatever you are planning, do it, and be done. If you intend to leave, it will be over my corpse. I'd rather it be that than you going through with whatever half-baked plan you're thinking of... I will not fight you,” he said, sorrow gilding his words as he held his palms up to her, more human than she had ever seen him before.

“I'm sorry...” he whispered, “...for _everything_.”

Yurielle sobbed and the sparks disappeared from her hand. “Yet another secret...?!” she choked. “You figured out the spell on your skin? When?!”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry for everything,” he repeated. “I didn't mean what I said in the other room... I-”

“Liar!” she cried, cutting him off. “You're _not_ sorry! You meant every word of what you said!”

“I'm sorry that I hit you,” he had taken another step closer as he spoke, “that _is_ true. No matter what you may think about anything else. I never wanted to hit you. Only to make you see...”

“See what?” Yurielle asked, her voice broken as she sank to the floor, deflating before him.

Raistlin hated the sight of his Star giving up like this, for he'd rather see her rage and scream at him. He deserved her anger, deserved her hate and he deserved the disappointment he had seen in her eyes as his words wounded her.

“To see that I'm a monster...” he replied quietly, “... a despicable man not worthy of your love. A creature such as I does not deserve your light.”

“You're not a monster!” she sobbed into her hands. “Fistandantilus is gone. You're just YOU!”

“Yes...” Slowly, carefully, Raistlin lowered himself to the floor next to her, an arm's length away. He was so close that he could touch her, he _wanted_ to touch her, but he refrained. “I'm just me - just Raistlin Majere. I'm just a man who has always been spiteful and full of hate. I've always been this way, Yurielle. I've been trying so hard to tell myself that I had changed or that my actions were because of Fistandantilus. But it's not the case and it never was... This _is_ me,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest, the hollow feeling within ached in response to her tears.

“This is me,” he repeated quietly, “and it's time you accept it, that we _both_ accept it. I have no choice but to acknowledge how I am, but if you can't, then maybe it's best that you _do_ leave...” he murmured. “But not like this, not with this anger between us. I have enough of that for myself; I can't bear yours as well. And it has no place in a heart like yours...”

The Archmage sat there in silence and forced himself to listen to Yurielle cry, forced himself to watch her perfect face succumb to her sadness. Every sob tore at him, making his insides raw even as her face - blotchy and red with crying - was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

They had been through so much together! How could this be the end of it?

But Raistlin couldn't blame her if it was. Surely this was what it was like to end a relationship; surely this was how it felt when love died... Raistlin's heart ached, his chest tightened painfully and he struggled to remember to breathe.

No, this was worse than the death of love.

This was worse than floating in the void of nothing...

This was oblivion.

“Yes, this is you,” he heard her sob behind her hands as she wiped her eyes, a useless gesture considering the deluge of tears, “angry, bitter, wrathful... but _never_ a monster.” She keened for a moment in despair before forcing out, “My anger isn't for you, Raistlin Majere... it's for what you do to others so easily, so coldly. It scares me!”

Raistlin squeezed his eyes shut at her words. He felt again the same sensations he felt when Fistandantilus had flooded his body. Helpless, smothered, and terribly alone; there was no light to reach him here. Tears stung his eyes, threatening to blind him. Every breath felt as if he were forcing lead through his lungs.

Knowing that he scared her with these deeply ingrained habits only proved to Raistlin how incompatible the two of them were. He knew that he struggled with his bitter nature every day, while she smiled and laughed and accepted things the way they were.

Still though, through every struggle since meeting her, Raistlin knew that Yurielle didn't judge him. She still refused to, even now with her admission. Even after seeing this side of him, the side that apparently was capable of striking her.

This side that scared her, this side which was the antithesis of what she was...

If not a monster... then what was he?

Raistlin closed his eyes and let himself feel the despair similar to that of his god-self, to feel the never-ending hunger that caused him to coil in on himself - a snake eating its tail as he devoured his own divinity in the attempt to satisfy and fill the emptiness within. It was a self-destructive cycle that Raistlin saw no end to.

He knew then that the same feelings were still there, the same need to fill the emptiness within. Mortal or god, he still held the same despair, the same never-ending hunger. He knew then that this emptiness wasn't from the absence of Fistandantilus; this void was the emptiness that existed within his soul.

Who was he, to have such a void?

What had he done to earn such a feeling?

Was he something worse than Fistandantilus?

He had tried to be different, tried to be better. He had hoped that her light alone had been enough to burn away his flaws and help him be human...

But they were still there, and he felt less and less human the more he questioned himself.

This realization stood out in stark contrast to the background of his being and Raistlin knew that this pain he was feeling as every tear she shed pierced his new heart like a dagger was his penance for a life lived doing evil deeds. All that was left of him in this moment was this shadow of a man he didn't know or understand, a man left in the dark to find his way, grasping at any comfort or source of light like a man drowning to stay afloat, blind to anyone else he was hurting in his quest to stay alive. That person Raistlin had been grasping hold of these last months, the one he was hurting most, was the one right here in the room with him.

Raistlin didn't even try to stop his tears as they slowly fell from his golden orbs.

After many minutes of only the sounds sobbing, Yurielle finally wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her sleeve to find Raistlin still sitting next to her. He was crying as well, but his tears were silent as they ghosted down his waxen face.

“Shit, you're _pale_...” Yurielle said the first thing that came to her mind as she eyed him.

Raistlin's gaze refocused at the sound of her voice. He felt a tiny glimmer of hope that her eyes, despite her apparent wariness towards him, still regarded him with curiosity for this new development with his skin.

They stared at one another from across this new chasm that had opened and yawned between them - a mutual void of internal uncertainties they had filled with each other; a void that bore down to their very core and the ugly truths and suspicions within each.

What could they do to patch it?

Very carefully, slowly, as if he were afraid to startle Yurielle, Raistlin reached into his sleeve and retrieved the envelope that had been left behind when she fled. Gently he held it out to her. “This was the last letter Caramon sent to me. You dropped it...” he said, his voice cracking.

Trembling, Yurielle reached out and snatched it away from him as if he'd destroy it right before her eyes.

“Read it to me,” he requested, his voice so small and tiny it could barely be heard. “Read it before you go...”

Yurielle sobbed again. “Why do you do this, Raistlin?”

He only stared at her with his large, solemn eyes that were wet with his own tears.

“You shred my emotions. Sometimes, I feel like I’m going insane...” Yurielle sniffed and took a shuddering breath. “What you said back there...” she shook her head, “it was only the truth. Painful, but the truth nonetheless...”

“I can't change who I am, Yurielle,” he said softly.

“I don't want you to change, Raistlin!” she replied, her words a broken sob. “Don't you _see_ that?! I just... I just want you to understand the pain you cause others. Not just me,” she pressed the envelope in her hand to her chest, “but also Caramon and the people that care for you and want what's best for you. Don't push us away... don't lash out and wound us when all we want is to love you!”

Raistlin said nothing, only stared at her with those cursed eyes that brought him so much torment, yet her so much comfort.

With those eyes, Yurielle knew that he was drinking in her face, memorizing every line and freckle, burning her visage into his brain. Raistlin Majere was locking away the one face he could see as if it were the only thing that mattered in his continually dying world of ash and dust.

Yurielle couldn't breathe in that moment as she fully realized that he _would_ let her leave, just as he said. Her heart clenched painfully, for she knew that a lonely Raistlin terrified her more than his wrath-filled one, more than his cold and indifferent one.

She stared at him, and he, her.

Both said nothing. Both did nothing.

With his pale skin, white hair, and cursed golden eyes, Raistlin Majere looked like a ghost of a man - haunted and lost and fragile, so very human that her heart ached with want to reach over and hold him.

But she didn't move.

Nothing made her love him any less Yurielle realized as she eyed him in turn, even after what just happened. Deep inside herself, Yurielle knew that he was right. She had to ask herself: _Had_ she really accepted what Raistlin was capable of? Did she really understand him as well as she thought she did? Was she so grateful for his darkness that she refused to see what her light revealed?

Who really was _her_ Raistlin?

Slowly, Yurielle tore her gaze from him and turned the letter in her hand. Again saw the words written across the back near the plain wax seal. The harsh, cold words that she knew that he had written: _**I have no brother.**_

Seeing it finalized like that in Raistlin's own handwriting nearly made her burst into tears again. Yurielle knew the words were not for her, but they _hurt_. Her relationship with her twin was very different than Raistlin's, and Yurielle had thought she had accepted it. Was he right to cut his brother out of his life?

Raistlin claimed she didn't really know him, that she refused to see all his flaws, refused to see his life for what it was. Very well then, she decided. This would be the hour that would define them.

With a deep breath Yurielle steeled herself as she ripped open the envelope's seal with one quick slash of a fingernail. Clearing her throat as best she could, she unfolded the wrinkled letter and smoothed it in her hands.

She took one quick glance at Raistlin over top of the papers' edge. He hadn't moved a muscle and still wore the same blank, resigned expression on his gaunt face. His eyes were wet but his tears had stopped, he was still staring at her as if she would vanish at any moment.

Clearing her throat one more time, Yurielle began to read the sloppy handwriting - so different from Raistlin's. The writing spoke of a man with an unrefined touch, one used to wielding a sword and not a quill. Though the words may have been written with slow, measured strokes that lacked refinement, they were blunt and to the point.

Yurielle noted that the letter was dated at the top of the page, it had been written last year in the late summer month of Paleswelt. Several more months would pass before she would meet Raistlin beneath the Library.

Forcing the words through a throat that was tight with sadness she began:

***

_My Brother,_

_I know I said in my last letter that it would be the final. The years of silence have made it clear to me that you wish to be left alone. I will honor your silent wish from this day forth._

_However, as always, know that I miss you, Raistlin. I begin each letter this way and this feeling will never change. We are one and always shall be. As long as you live, there will remain a hole in my life without you. Despite this, I have come to accept that we are too different to be in each other's lives. So we must exist separate, we must each live with the hole in ourselves._

_You saw this, didn't you?_

_You've always been the smarter of us and the wisest._

_I see now._

_I see that you have your own path and I have no part in it. You left not only because it was the path of a wizard and not a warrior, but you also knew that I would follow you like the dumb ox I am. I may not be as smart as you, and maybe it shouldn't have taken so long to start to see it this way, but I think I am finally starting to understand... You are protecting me by ignoring me._

_It's fitting, that your final act of love is also your cruelest yet. But I cannot blame you, for I know if it were otherwise I would have followed you to the ends of the earth if allowed - to my ultimate demise._

_So, henceforth, you will never hear from me again, brother. I have bled enough of my hearts' blood in these letters that it is a wonder the ink is not red._

_I need to say goodbye. I have to say goodbye. I cannot be the man my family needs if I continue waiting for your reply. Maybe once I stop expecting you to come home I will finally be able to provide the father my family deserves. Perhaps then can finally rid myself of the things I keep from Tika, the things I use to fill the hole without you..._

_But before I end this letter I wanted to share with you one last bit of news. I do not know why I feel this may be of any importance to you, but something tells me that you may find it interesting or at least of some significance to your world of magic._

_Tika has blessed me with a third son! He was born on our very own life day and is healthy, fine-boned, and fairer than his brothers. His name is Palin. He looks just like you, Raistlin, and what is more, is I sense that he is different._

_I can see it in her eyes; Tika fears that Palin will grow to be just like you - that he will be blessed with magic. She may fear it, but I honestly do hope that it comes to be so, as painful as the thought is. Perhaps I can finally come to understand this magic you loved so much; perhaps by raising him and encouraging his gift I can make amends for all the things I never understood about you._

_Like I said in all my past letters, know that I will always be here, Raistlin._

_If, for whatever reason, you do ever want to come home...home is waiting. I am waiting and I doubt I'll ever be able to stop. But hopefully, now that I've said goodbye, I can be the man everyone thinks I am. I can't lie to them anymore. I can't lie to myself._

_You are my brother, my twin, and nothing will ever change that. No matter what roads we take, we will always share the same blood. Warrior or wizard, the magic of our blood is what binds us._

_Despite this, I will try to not cling to hope that I will ever see you again. Nor do I think that you will actually read this letter. I'm sure you've burnt all the others. This one will be no different._

_I suppose I wrote it more for me than for you._

_Regardless, this is my first step to try and find myself without you. I'll always feel incomplete because there was once a time when we were one. But I hold those memories close and will never forget them._

_Tika is calling me to come for supper now and I can smell the aroma of the berry pie she spent the day making for us. So I will let go of the past, let go of you, and go to be with the family that I have now._

_Be well, my brother._

_Goodbye._

_With love, always,_

_~Caramon Majere_

***

Yurielle finished the letter and gently ran her fingers over the puckered places on its surface where it was clear that the other man had shed tears as he had written it. These were tears from the heart, tears from a lonely soul.

Gods, how she could relate to Caramon's pain!

Slowly she lowered the paper, her eyes now on the twin before her. Raistlin still sat there, frozen like a statue on the floor next to her. He said nothing, did nothing, and Yurielle wondered if he had even heard a word she had just said.

Silently she folded the paper and carefully placed it on the floor between them.

“Your brother said it as good as I ever could: Be well, Raistlin...” Yurielle said quietly as she stood, gathering her bag into her arms. “Goodbye.”

“Don't!” His hand shot out and took hold of the hem of her robes. “Please...”

“You said you'd let me go,” she said, forcing herself to not look at him.

“Please, don't! I can't...” Yurielle heard him sob, and it as that broken sound that pulled her wary gaze back to him. “I'll give anything... do anything!” he cried and looked up at her.

He wore despair on his face. Despair and hopelessness.

And his eyes...

His eyes were so very blue.

Yurielle's knees gave out.

Her legs hit the floor hard but she felt no pain, so shocked was she. “Raistlin...!” Yurielle raised a trembling hand to his face. “Your eyes!”

He blinked and they were golden, the curse restored, even as tears fell from them.

Yurielle gasped.

“They were blue, Raistlin....!” She touched him now, each hand cradling the sides of his face. “Your eyes were _blue_!”

“Don't leave me,” he whispered desperately, seemingly ignoring what she had seen. He pressed her palms to his face, lacing his slender fingers with hers to anchor her there. “I'm sorry for everything I said, for what I did. I'm sorry for the way I am. I can't change and I know you don't want me to,” he rambled. “But... Please... don't go. Not now, not like this! I'll do anything you ask of me!”

“Anything?” she asked.

“Anything...” he breathed and she could feel him tremble beneath her wet palms, damp from his tears.

“Come with me,” she commanded.

Raistlin looked at her, hope blooming on his pale face. “Anywhere, Yurielle, if it's with you,” his voice broke, “I'll go anywhere. I swear it!”

Yurielle knew then, had honestly always known, that there was no way she would have left Raistlin. Not like this– despite anything he could do or say and not while there were so man issues they could work through yet. She may have been able to leave the room, perhaps the Tower, but she would not have been able to step past the Shoikan Grove. Even if she did, her footsteps would have eventually brought her back here, one way or another. This was her home and this was her beloved.

They both had so much room to grow, both within themselves and also with each other. Yurielle wanted to try this road, she wanted to see what her light would reveal. She may very well find more things that would hurt the two of them, but she also couldn't help but question what sort of wonders they may find together.

If she walked away now with things the way they were, Yurielle knew she would forever regret it. She had to see... had to shine!

Maybe right now, what they shared wasn't healthy. Maybe they were both blind to a few things while still within the tight grip of new-found love. But they had spoken the truth to each other, and though it had hurt, it was a place to start figuring things out. From here they could grow and help each other if that was what was destined. But if their paths were to someday split, then so be it...

The woman gazed at the man before her; pale, broken and handsome beyond words and knew that today was not that day.

Gods, how she loved him!

Her Darkness needed his Star.

They were both clinging to one another in this new uncertain world around them. It was pain and agony and would remain so until they found a healthy balance. It would take time, but Yurielle wanted to try.

She knew she couldn't change Raistlin Majere. Nor did she want to! His darkness was a part of him, and she would shine on all of it and love all of him. Even if it made her sad, even if her light revealed things in him she did not like. _This_ was her Raistlin, and she loved all of the complex, scary, tender and wonderful parts of him. Yurielle fully understood now.

And she would never forget it!

She walked this path so others didn't have to and it was moments like this in which she was meant to shine.

Raistlin took her silence as indecision. Quietly, brokenly, he whispered, “I love you, Yurielle with no surname. If you are going to leave, please don't leave like this... not yet.”

Yurielle smiled and brought his face to hers as she pressed their foreheads together. “I love you too, Raistlin Majere, my sweet Darkness,” she whispered before kissing him.

An elated sob escaped Raistlin's lips when hers tenderly kissed him. Warmth returned to his limbs, air rushed into his lungs, life and happiness flooded the void.

Suddenly Yurielle pushed him down to the floor beneath her and straddled his hips as their kiss continued; growing in desperate, sorrowful passion.

“I'm sorry I struck you,” he breathed, his head swimming with emotion and need for oxygen when they finally broke apart.

Yurielle sat back and looked down at him through her own tears. Running her hand along the soft black velvet over his chest she said meekly, “I _did_ bite you first... I'm sorry about that by the way. I shouldn't have done it.”

He went to shake his head to argue but she interrupted him with an exasperated sigh. “Raistlin, maybe we do fill a part of ourselves with each other, but I don't think it's a bad thing... not really. And I don't think it's unexpected, given what's happened to us,” she said softly to his reserved expression.

“We'll work through it, together,” she said. “We'll figure it out and grow stronger through this uncertainty. We'll help find each other and find our purpose. But, right now, I need you.” She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his again. “I need your comfort, your touch, and your love... Will you share them with me?”

Each saw the truth in the other's sad gaze. Beneath everything that had been said and had happened today, they still loved each other.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Always.”

Yurielle kissed him softly again before murmuring, “I hear make-up sex can be quite interesting... Would you like to add it to our growing list of 'first times' with each other?”

The Archmage released a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob as he gave himself up to her and she to him. It wasn't a claiming or possessing as they made passionate love on the cold floor of her empty room.

It was an apology, a declaration, and a building of a bridge across the chasm of bitter truths.

Today they took the first steps down the road that would define them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/19/20: Thank you to those of you who left supportive comments on the last chapter, it eased me to know I didn't completely drop the ball with how rough it was. I had meant to go ahead and post a Caramon chapter today, but unfortunately, real life is hitting me hard right now and I'm afraid I have to step away from the story for the time being and I didn't want to leave such a painful cliffhanger for you, so you got Raistlin and Yurielle instead. At least this way you have some peace of mind.
> 
> I don't know when I'll be back, the long and short of it is I have an extended family member who is hospitalized again right now with severe health issues and if that hasn't been bad enough, they just tested positive for the virus we're all dealing with. So the next few weeks will be very stressful until my family knows who was all exposed and know how sick those that were get and what all happens...  
> For clarity, I was not exposed, but it's one of those situations where we just don't know how far this went during the couple days between my uncle coming home then being hospitalized again. You've probably gathered by now that I don't do super well with stress, so through all this playing out I just know that I'll have very little energy for anything else for a while.
> 
> Anyway, I know I don't need to share that, but I've always tried to be honest with my readers. I've tried to give people something to look forward to every week and I'm sorry it needs to stop for a while. But please take heart that I don't intend to abandon the story, it means too much to me and I've poured my soul into this monster of a tale for far too long. So I'll be back once things calm down and I have time to clear my head. This all was just fully dropped on me late last night and maybe, like Yurielle, I'm overreacting a bit. But as you've also probably gathered, my mental state hasn't been super happy as of late anyway so it's time to focus on me and my family for a while.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy in the meantime. Be kind to one another and gentle on yourselves. ♥


	25. Without the Barriers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind a bit of fluff to wrap up the year ♥

“Why do we have such a hard time getting to a bed?” Yurielle asked from where she lay in the crook of Raistlin's arm. They were still on the floor in her old bedroom; their clothes and spell components scattered around them, thrown off their bodies in desperate haste to be rid of them.

Yurielle had wasted no time in riding her lover until he cried out her name. They both knew that Raistlin would have a back full of rug burns now and she bruised knees.

But neither one of them cared. Because they chose each other.

Raistlin looked down at Yurielle and couldn't help but marvel at her. She was strong to withstand his anger and his harsh words; brave and willing to embrace such dark and ugly truths. So few people had done the same during his life and for her to still stay after seeing that side of him was an act of loyalty that he didn't know what to do with.

The Archmage chuckled and kissed the top of her head, savoring the smell of her hair, the feel of her in his arms. “Because any bed beneath us in times like that would turn to ashes,” he murmured drowsily - spent and, for now at least, content.

Yurielle smiled as she ran her hand over his bare arm, observing his paleness, for Raistlin Majere was far, far paler than her. He always had soft skin, but without its golden sheen, it seemed nearly translucent from the decade long lack of sun and exposure. The pale hairs on his flesh were nearly invisible against the milk-white surface; his veins were small rivers of blue that webbed across the planes of his body.

Her smile deepened, he was right of course.

The passionate fire between them after their fight had burned away their tears and their anger, leaving behind a blissful sorrow. Both knew that this sorrow would take time to heal, but despite how horrid their fight had been, they both wanted to make things right, to understand and help one another.

They had much to work on, Yurielle reflected, but there was still great love between them. Nothing had been lost inside their hearts for one another as they wounded the other with their secret thoughts and doubts. However, now that those words were out there, they had to wade through the tears and blood they had shed to find a resolution. But Yurielle knew the new bridge they'd forge together would never fall.

They'd find a way.

Somehow.

“You have freckles!” she exclaimed, noticing the very few, faint dots along his forearm then looked up to his face to see the barely detectable dusting across the bridge of his angular nose.

Raistlin hummed in reply. “A few...” he said quietly. “It's common among the people in Solace to be fair-skinned with auburn hair and freckles.”

“Auburn?” Yurielle asked. “I thought you said that your hair used to be brown.”

“It was,” he admitted. “And though it was a lighter shade of brown, there was also a slight hint of auburn in it too, especially in the summer when I'd be out in the sun.”

“ _You_ out in the sun?” she asked, her eyes rounding and mouth falling open in lighthearted shock.

“I had to walk to school every day,” Raistlin replied. “Not all of us lived where we were taught.”

“I didn't have much choice,” Yurielle said, not in the least offended at being reminded by the fact that her arcane teaching had been so unorthodox. “I bet you'd burn in an instant if you went outside like this. Then you'd look like a tomato,” she added with a soft laugh. “Good thing you don't wear red robes anymore, people might think you _were_ a tomato!”

Again the Archmage merely hummed in reply, content to hold Yurielle and listen to her giggle. Hearing her happy, made him happy, and Raistlin Majere vowed to never make Yurielle cry again.

He knew it would be hard and that he would most likely fail... but he'd try.

Why was being human so complicated?

Propping herself up on her elbow, Yurielle turned onto her stomach so that she could examine Raistlin's face more closely. She had enjoyed his body thoroughly and repeatedly until they both had collapsed, but she hadn't really let herself absorb all the tiny discoveries to find on his normal skin. Tracing her fingers over his nose she gasped, “Wow! Look at them all!”

“You win the contest though,” Raistlin replied, his own fingertip tracing along her face, mirroring her caress. Slowly his fingers came to her cheekbone. The skin there was red and slightly puffy from hitting her. The area over the bone was darker and would most likely bruise.

His gut twisted with guilt.

Yurielle saw this and took the hand that struck her and kissed his palm. Ignoring Raistlin's frown, she smiled at him as she reached up to run her fingers through his hair. Gently she wove the snow-white locks around her fingers.

“Your hair is getting long,” she commented, changing the subject.

Raistlin nodded. “To be fair, I've been a bit busy lately to sit and worry about it,” he said, understanding that she was silently telling him to not dwell on what had happened in the other room.

“I'll cut it for you, if you want,” Yurielle offered, still playing with the feather-soft strands.

“Dalamar can do it when he gets back from Wayreth,” Raistlin returned mildly.

“ _Dalamar_ cuts your hair?”

Raistlin shifted slightly to prop his head up with his other arm. “Who else?”

“Who cut your hair before?” she asked, curious.

“I did.”

“Then why don't you just cut it yourself again?”

“I'll confess that I was not very good at it,” Raistlin admitted. “Dalamar does a much better job.”

“But you don't want me to do it?” Yurielle asked, feigning a pout. “I bet I'd do just as good a job as that pretentious peacock!”

“But your hair is wavy,” Raistlin said, gently running his fingers through the remnant of her braid. It had come loose during their fight and even more so after their passionate coupling on the floor. Carefully he undid the rest of it, freeing the soft strands to fall around her face and shoulders. “I can't tell if it's cut even,” he said as he worked. “For all I know, it's horribly lopsided,” he added with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

“My hair is _not_ lopsided!” she replied with mock indignation and gave his hair a gentle tug. “I know what I'm doing, Archmage! Don't you trust me?”

Raistlin opened his mouth to reply but decided against whatever it was he was going to say. Instead, he shut it again with a snap, causing Yurielle to laugh.

“You are such a vain creature, Raistlin Majere!” she giggled. “So it's true then, huh?” she asked and playfully gave another, slightly harder tug of his hair, causing him to yelp. “You don't trust your lover enough to not butcher your looks? You will only ever trust an elf to make you pretty, is that it?!”

Instead of answering, Raistlin rolled his eyes and pulled her back against his chest, relishing the feel of her breasts against him and the way her loose hair fell around him. Soft and warm, she fit perfectly there; a pillar of his existence made just for him...

“I trust you, Yurielle,” he said at last while he ran his fingers down the indent of her spine to come to rest in the dimples at its base. Pressing his thumb into one, the rest of his hand cupped her rear. He smiled at her when she pressed her body deeper into his while flashing her flirty smirk back in answer.

Yes, there was much love between them still, Raistlin knew, but so too was there passion and desire with no small amount of lust mixed in. It would take time to sort through it all and learn what, if anything, was an unhealthy dependency on the other or what was simply natural for them as a couple with how deeply they loved one another.

These were waters Raistlin had never thought he'd wade through and so he had no idea what to do with all the emotions this woman stirred inside him nor of what was expected of him to make things right for her as well.

One thing he did know was that ignoring their own problems and burying them with sex hadn't resolved anything besides each resorting to listening to their inner doubts more than confiding in the one person they knew they could trust.

They had much to work on but, like mastering magic, Raistlin was prepared to learn and become the best version of himself that he could.

For _her,_ if no one else...

“But not with your hair?” his Star's voice cut through his thoughts as Yurielle pouted her lower lip out dramatically, far more than what was necessary as she settled against him, tangling her legs with his and doing her best to look offended. But the hints of dimples on her cheeks betrayed her.

Raistlin nipped her lip gently with his teeth, making her laugh again. The sound of it filled the room like glittering snowfall.

“Fine,” Yurielle sighed, faking an air of indifference once he pulled away. “Have it your way, Archmage. I'll let Dalamar make you pretty if it makes you happy. But,” her dark eyes flashed to meet his, her grin mischievous, “I get to put it up once in a while.”

“Why?” he asked.

“So I can admire this handsome face,” she replied, cupping his head in her palms and kissing him.

“There's a catch, isn't there?” he asked suspiciously.

Yurielle only shrugged as she returned to playing with the ends of his hair, weaving the strands around and through her fingers, lulling Raistlin into a post-coital stupor as he watched with heavy-lidded eyes. The setting sun suddenly broke through a thin spot in the low spring clouds and splashed along the halo of her messy hair. The beam of light disappeared just as quickly, but it made Raistlin think of sunlight dancing on the leaves of the Vallenwoods.

The image was so strong and intense that for a heartbeat, Raistlin felt as if he were standing on one of the walkways, watching the sunset over Crystalmir Lake. A feeling akin to homesickness suddenly sprang at him from nowhere.

“So, you had traces of red in your hair too?” she asked, once again drawing his attention back to her and bringing him back to the present.

“Just a bit,” he said quietly. “As I mentioned, only a lot of sun made it visible in the summer.”

“What about Caramon?” Yurielle asked softly, her eyes avoiding his. “Is his hair the same as yours?”

“You saw him in my Test,” Raistlin said, frowning. “You know what he looks like.”

Her eyes rose again to meet his. “Yes, I saw him. But I was looking through _your_ eyes, Raistlin. You were injured and dying and your focus was not totally on your brother.”

Raistlin sighed heavily and Yurielle could tell he was trying very hard to not be annoyed with her question. After a moment, he answered, “Caramon's hair was always darker brown than mine. It was also wavy. He'd probably be able to put you to shame with his ridiculously perfect locks.”

Ignoring his bitter tone, Yurielle ran her fingers along Raistlin's scalp and down the length of his hair again, trying to imagine him with dark brown, wavy hair. It didn't suit him - not her mysterious, hard-edged, Hourglass Mage. He was all hard angles and lines, scowls and prominent ridges. Nothing curved or wavy about him!

“It's so strange how different the two of you look...” she commented idly. Raistlin was silent at this and Yurielle decided it best to not bring up his twin anymore so she went back to running her fingers over his face and imagined him the way he remembered.

“You're trying to visualize me, aren't you?” he asked, knowing that her creative mind was attempting to puzzle everything together. “Trying to compare me and my twin...”

“I compare you to no one, Raistlin,” she reprimanded gently, “for, in my mind, _you_ are all there is for me.”

Raistlin decided to just accept her comment for what it was in this moment. Yurielle had never met his twin in person, hadn't had the chance to see how strong and handsome he was in comparison to the gargoyle she had chosen. She didn't know how charismatic Caramon was with women, how he could make them swoon with just a few words and an easy smile.

 _'She thinks our physical differences are strange?'_ Raistlin thought to himself. _'She really has no idea...'_

It took effort, but Raistlin pulled his thoughts away from that path. He didn't want to spoil this moment they were sharing so he let her voice her opinion without correcting her; let her believe she had the better end of the deal. A part of him was flattered by her words, he had to admit, but the compliment felt like something that would disappear the moment she saw otherwise...

Instead of letting his bitter cynicism take hold, his golden eyes watched her beside him; content and happy and beautiful, her imagination sweeping her away with her thoughts. He wanted to be swept along with them, for her mind was a pleasant place when she was happy.

“So what do you think of him? The old me that now exists only in your mind...?” he heard himself ask several heartbeats later.

Her face slowly broke back into a smile - dazzling and radiant. “I'm still trying to settle on all the little details,” she confessed. “It's all a bit of a fascinating mystery to me - of what you used to look like.”

Raistlin scoffed. “Believe me, if I was anything, it was ordinary and dull. I think you'd be better off saving your energy for other _creative_ endeavors.” He quirked an eyebrow at her and again gave her rump another suggestive squeeze.

Yurielle stuck her tongue out playfully. “I can't help but try to imagine it! I feel like I may have to draw it!” She gasped then, not at him squeezing her rear, but at a sudden, exciting thought. “Maybe I should buy some paints! I've never painted before and you'd make a _great_ subject!”

“As long as I don't have to be in the nude,” he attempted to joke.

“Don't worry, _that_ one will remain in our _private_ collection,” she replied with a wink.

The Archmage just shook his head and couldn't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm for such a ridiculous idea. He'd rather have his fingernails pulled out one by one or face down an abyssal creature than subject himself to something like that. Then again... her drawings _were_ works of art in themselves, Raistlin contemplated to himself. Perhaps seeing what she could do in other mediums would be interesting. He chuckled again at the absurdity in which his thoughts had wandered down.

Yurielle returned to playing with his hair as she daydreamed and Raistlin was content to allow her to do so. For both of them, to leave this room would be to return to his study, to the smell of burnt letters and the painful echo of what they had said to one another.

Here was safety and warmth. Here a small sanctuary for them to just _be._

Minutes wore on as the Archmage continued to watch Yurielle's face. She no longer scolded him on his staring, unless it was in jest. Suddenly, a small crease slowly appeared between her eyebrows. Puzzled by it, Raistlin reached up and gently smoothed it away with his finger.

“What's causing this?” he asked as he did. “Is imagining me normal all that difficult?”

“Of course it's not difficult, Raistlin,” she reprimanded gently. “I was...”

He watched her cheeks flush slightly and she lowered her eyes away. The act wasn't an embarrassed one; it was more like she didn't want to share her thoughts.

“What,” he urged. Now his hand was at her chin, tilting her face back to look at his.

Those deep blue orbs were solemn and wistful. “I was just thinking about if we ever did have a child...” she confessed softly. “What might it look like, do you think? Would any of the effects of your curse carry over?”

Raistlin was quiet for several moments as he studied her eyes. He saw that she had been reluctant to bring it up and soon she began to chew at her lower lip as if wishing she could take the words back. But they had both resolved to keep no secrets from the other, no matter how silly or innocuous they may seem.

With his thumb, Raistlin pulled the soft flesh out from between her teeth. “Well,” he began slowly, strangely calm about the whole topic, “ _if_ such a child would ever happen, I don't think my curse would be passed on. It's not that type of curse. At least...” his brow furrowed, “I don't think it is. But in terms of looks, I hope the gods are merciful and it takes after you more than me.”

She scrunched her face at him. “Well, I want the baby to look like you!”

“That's just cruel.”

“One of these days, you're going to realize just how handsome you are, Raistlin Majere!”

“Unlikely,” he huffed.

She kissed the corner of his mouth before saying, “Regardless, they're sure to have reddish-brown hair and blue eyes, given that we both have those traits – pre-curse for you that is. I hope, in the very least, they have your shade of blue eyes – so bright and lovely.”

“So it's 'they' now, is it?” he teased, for suddenly the hypothetical one baby had turned plural.

Yurielle blushed again, her eyes widening slightly at her mistake. “I only meant-”

“I know what you meant,” Raistlin assured with a smile. “Now, please, Yurielle,” he said, his voice calm if not somewhat forced, “it's bad enough _you_ insist on staying with me when I don't deserve it. So let's work on us before we even think of dragging children into this mess that is my life...”

“ _Our_ life,” she corrected.

Raistlin offered a small, very genuine smile at her words. They softly kissed once more before settling comfortably again on the floor amongst their robes and other items. A sense of contentment was heavy in the air as Yurielle continued to trace her fingers along her beloved's pale, normal skin.

She smiled to herself as she did, for here he was, the most powerful Archmage of this time, laying next to her on the floor of a small room within his dark Tower, completely at ease and allowing her to gently touch him – something he had recoiled from in the very beginning. Even the smallest contact used to send her Hourglass Mage out of his skin with how uncomfortable it made him. But now he allowed it.

More than that, he _craved_ it.

And Raistlin Majere was so very wonderful to touch! Especially now after this new development with his skin.

Yurielle delighted in studying every ivory valley and plane. She loved every inch of him; everything from how shadowed and blue his eyelids and the skin around his eyes were, to the small scars and other marks that hinted at stories and tales of his past that she wanted desperately to learn.

Someday.

This was a different Raistlin to her, one who was bare and exposed, completely and totally trusting in ways she could only dream about those months ago when they had first met. For a brief moment, Yurielle felt awe and wonder wash over her at understanding just how special this intimacy was.

Raistlin Majere truly did love her.

Yurielle ran her fingertips over the pale ridges of his nose and the sharp angles of his face. Her fingers danced along his lips, down the deep cleft in his neck and collarbones and across his ribs.

“You have _pink_ nipples!” she cried suddenly.

“You rather they be a different color?” Raistlin asked, cracking an eye open and watching her stare in amazement at his chest.

“I'm just so used to you being gold, Raistlin!” she said. “Look how cute and rosy they are!”

Then her eyes widened and she gasped, both her dark blue eyes shooting to the area beneath the robe that lay over their lower halves. Sitting up suddenly, she pulled the cloth away in order to really take a look at the whole of his body.

“Yurielle!” Raistlin exclaimed. Instinctively covering his exposure with his hands and sat up as the cold air of the room assaulted his naked body. Quickly grabbing the other robe on the floor next to them, he flung the thick velvet over himself. The act happened so fast that there was no way that she could have gotten a very good look.

Yurielle pouted at him. “I didn't pay much attention to what your whole body looked like when we were having sex, Raistlin! Come on, let me see it!”

Her eyes widened again when he flushed bright red at demanding to see his privates.

“Oh... my... GODS! Raistlin! You're _blushing_!” she squealed in excitement. “Look at how red you're turning!” she exclaimed, on all fours in front of him, her face inches from his, watching in fascination as his skin blazed like Lunitari and continued to glow brighter and brighter before her very eyes!

“I'm glad you're having so much fun with this!” Raistlin scowled and wrapped the robe, which he now noticed was hers, more tightly around himself as if it were a cocoon to hide inside. He rolled away from her in a huff and huddled there on the floor in sullen silence.

“I've seen you naked plenty of times before, Raistlin,” Yurielle said, watching his moody reaction. “Why can't I see you now?”

“Why do you _need_ to?” he asked, exasperated and getting annoyed. This constant up and down of emotion was draining. Honestly, the only thing he wanted to do right now was take a nice long nap...

“I don't _need_ to!” Yurielle said back, her hands going to her hips as she gave a little huff of her own. “I'm just really curious is all...” She stared at him, trying to figure out why he didn't want her to see his body. Soon her posture shifted as realization dawned on her.

“Are you... still ashamed of how you look?” she asked timidly, recalling how hesitant he was about bringing up how he used to look and knowing how insecure he was about his body.

Her answer was a deep, silent scowl that she could not see from this angle.

Was he?

Raistlin suddenly wasn't sure how to answer her question. His eyes lowered to look at his naked chest underneath the covering of her robe. Instead of a mummified golden hue, his body looked even more dead and corpse-like to him now – pale skin graying and desiccated. Nothing had changed since discovering he could drop his golden protection.

In fact, in some ways, this was worse...

How Yurielle could even look at him much less touch him was beyond his understanding, for Raistlin truly did find himself revolting.

Suddenly Yurielle was in front of him, her palms on the sides of his face drew his eyes to look back up to her. “I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable!” she said earnestly. “I get carried away because I love your body, Raistlin,” she said softly, kneeling naked on the floor beside him. “ _Never_ forget that. No matter what color your skin is - or your hair or your eyes - you are always _you_.”

“But who am I?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers.

Yurielle tucked a strand of white hair behind his ear and kissed his forehead. “You're my Darkness, my dearest Raistlin,” she replied against his skin. “And I'd love you even if you were purple!”

“Thank the gods that's not the case,” Raistlin grumbled as he rolled onto his back again. After a silent, tense moment, he gently pulled her back down to be next to him and sighed as she nestled against this body that he hated so.

“See, there's a silver lining in everything!” Yurielle smiled at him, her eyes again studying his face. “Your skin isn't like this permanently, right?” she asked. “I'm guessing you learned to change it back and forth...”

“I did,” Raistlin confirmed then cocked his head to the side. “Does it feel different to you now?” he asked, curious.

“What do you mean?” she replied absently, still fascinated by how translucent his flesh was as she traced the bluish-purple veins under the skin along his collarbone with her fingertips.

“You've told me that you can 'feel' my magic,” Raistlin clarified. “That my skin 'hums' with it.”

“Oh... _that_ ,” Yurielle said. A bright flush suddenly tinted her cheeks.

Raistlin's eyes widened at her reaction. “Does _that_ hum too? When we...?!” His mouth dropped open as she was now the one to turn as red as Lunitari.

“You still please me like this,” she said, running her fingers across his chest again and ignoring his sudden realization of how he sexually felt to her senses. “It was different this time,” she admitted. “But still wonderful because it was _you_.” She met his gaze now as she spoke. “So don't go thinking that you somehow are less pleasurable to me without your shield because it's _nonsense_ , Raistlin! You fit inside me perfectly and you know exactly how to send me over the moons and back no matter if you use your cock, your tongue, _or_ your words! Never mind if they're golden or not!”

He could only shake his head, bewildered by her and her bluntness. “You truly are a strange creature, Yurielle,” he said after a moment.

“But that's why you love me?”

Raistlin didn't think she had meant to say it like a question.

“Yes,” he answered and pulled her down to kiss her, “among so many other reasons. I want none other but you, Yurielle,” he said, peppering her cheeks with his pale lips, “Weirdness, magic, insufferable silliness, irritating truths and all.”

She giggled as his lips tickled her face. Reaching up above their heads, Yurielle managed to grab the edge of the coverlet from the bed and started pulling at it.

“What are you doing?” Raistlin asked, more concerned now with kissing her neck than whatever she was up to.

With one last hard tug, Yurielle freed the blanket and pulled it over the two of them, burying them in its thick depths. “Creating darkness for you, my Darkness,” she said thickly, her voice making it clear what she had planned for him. Before he could ask any more questions she added, “I want to see you as you really are, Archmage, but not until you are ready. However, I'm afraid that I left the blindfold in the other room, and since you claim that I'm such a cheater at peeking when I'm not supposed to, we'll just have to improvise.”

Still able to see one another faintly through the ambient light filtering through the coverlet, Yurielle saw the emotion her gesture stirred in the golden cursed eyes of her lover.

“I love you,” Raistlin whispered, his own voice thick. “But let me show you a thing or two about creating darkness.”

With that, he cast Globe of Darkness, enveloping the two of them in utter blackness. Below him, Yurielle gave a low moan as the feel of his magic danced along her skin, setting her senses aflame.

To Raistlin Majere, Master of the Past and Present, it was the most beautiful sound in all existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/25/20: Hello again my wonderful readers! I wanted to post something for you for the Holiday season in thanks for your continuing support! It's taken me a bit to get this chapter edited as it was about three times longer and full of angst on top of the fluff, but I wanted to keep it more lighthearted and loving to end 2020 on a positive note. So this is what it ended up to be.  
> I'll figure out how to fix what I cut out later xD
> 
> Things are finally, slowly, returning to normal. Though I don't even know what 'normal' is anymore.  
> Without going into too much detail, the last few weeks have had their ups and major downs. I also managed to catch the virus myself and it took me a while to feel 'normal' again. Needless to say I didn't get a whole lot of work on the story done during this time. But fear not, the last week or so I've had a lot of good ideas and if they're not typed out, they're hand written somewhere or on my phone where I can eventually get them all in order. Also, who couldn't be happy with the news the Dragonlance lawsuit was dropped! That alone has made me so very happy and I'm trying to ride this high into 2021 and use it as inspiration going forward. Not to mention Mandalorian season 2 also has gone a long way in healing parts of me that I didn't think would ever recover, but that's a whole other fandom lol! But I'll take inspiration where I can get it ;)
> 
> Anyway, sorry. I ramble.  
> I hope everyone is doing well and that you enjoyed the chapter. We'll get to Caramon and Tika in Solace again soon. My original plan was to jump back and forth between the twins, but I've settled on a different approach now. So as a result they've just taken a back seat for a while, but I don't think anyone will mind. I have lots of chapters to write and perfect to get there, but I'm going to do my best to not have such a long gap again before the next chapter.
> 
> Have a great Holiday Season in however you celebrate, if you do at all, and just know I appreciate every one of you whether you comment or leave kudos or chose to remain silent instead. Even seeing that the story still gets hits makes me smile. But to those that did leave comments, your words of encouragement and kindness last chapter really, really meant a lot to me. When things weren't so good, they really helped. So thank you again. ♥  
> If I don't post next Thursday, have a wonderful and safe New Years. I'll see you in 2021!  
> Cheers!


	26. The Darkness Contemplates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't mind another introspective chapter

_Our life..._

Those two words that Yurielle had said to Raistlin sang through his head long after they left her lips. She lay next to him, her legs tangled with his, their bodies still warm and buzzing with remnant passion. As he let her doze contentedly there, Raistlin reflected on how safe he felt with her, especially now. Drowsily, he pulled the coverlet more snugly around them and planted one small kiss on her forehead. She murmured softly, the sound brushing against his skin. The rhythm of her breathing changed for just a moment before sleep claimed her again, pulling her back into her world of vivid dreams and peaceful rest.

Yes, he was safe with her in this moment. For all moments.

Yurielle had magic, she could use it to hurt him just as any other magic-user could, but Raistlin knew in his soul that he didn't need his shield right now. Yurielle would never use her abilities against him and said shield was useless in stopping the other forms of pain they could inflict upon one another.

Despite how full of peace he was right now, Raistlin's heart echoed with remembrance...

The words he had thrown at her earlier had come from a dark, secret place inside him, and the depth of insecurities and suspicions that poured out when he unleashed them had shocked both of them.

This place inside of his being, one that Raistlin wasn't sure he'd ever be able to tame and master, was an ugly, terrible place. But the Archmage was aware of it now, as was Yurielle, and they vowed to one another that they would talk and listen even if the words were hard to deal with, even if what was uncovered was hideous and loathsome.

He scowled at the thought of possibly going through more moments like what had just happened in the other room, for he was capable of many dark deeds and often didn't see his actions in the same light Yurielle did. What would she say or do in response to the other things he had done? Surely, their life together would have many more such fights once she finally did drag all his secrets out to view. Could they endure through it?

Having a heart was such a bothersome thing!

But, Raistlin supposed, what happened today was worth it - Yurielle knowing about how he had ignored Caramon, their fight, yes, even what transpired in this room after - all of it was worth it. The Archmage knew he would have kept those letters from Yurielle forever if she hadn't found them. Now Raistlin felt as if a heavy weight had been removed because they were exposed; they had finally resurfaced for him to sit and think about them, to finally deal with them.

The fact that Yurielle was right - that if he hadn't cared, he would have burned the letters – tumbled around inside Raistlin. He knew that there was no reason for him to keep them. They served no function being hidden and locked away within an old drawer. He knew that he would never read them, but the fact he had taken time to carefully construct a hiding spot for them...

 _Did_ he care?

He sighed then, not only from the feel of Yurielle beside him, her breath caressing along his skin, soft as butterfly wings, but also because he really could not answer that. Caramon didn't need him and he no longer needed Caramon. They were different men living completely different lives. They were acid and water – a dangerous and poisonous combination to be so near one another.

Could having a heart change that?

No, Raistlin decided.

He still loathed his brother, was still bitter about all the years of being smothered by the dolt and all the pitiful sympathy those big brown eyes conveyed every time they looked at one another. Their lives together had never been easy, especially after Raistlin's Test. Through the whole of their lives together the big man acted as though he understood his brother's decisions, seemed as though he accepted Raistlin's path.

But Raistlin knew all too well that his twin only stayed because he didn't think Raistlin could function on his own. Despite this, he never hesitated to leave Raistlin by himself when it suited his own desires.

During those last final years together, Raistlin knew that Caramon did as he pleased without thought or true care to how it affected _him -_ even if the big man didn't see it himself. Caramon hid his own dark needs behind a smile and a puppy-like need to please others. But Raistlin knew that there was a cruelty to his overbearingness, a selfishness to the times he went off on his own for a quick tupping with the prettiest girl in whatever town they were passing through. Caramon was borderline narcissistic in his need to feel accepted, loved, and needed, so much so that he alienated his own twin with his actions.

Raistlin knew this. He saw it plainly even as their companions turned a blind eye to it. Raistlin recognized this behavior, these tendencies, within his twin and often exploited them to gain a better hold over his brother. He made no secret of the fact he ordered Caramon around, that he used his brother's loyalty to him for maximum benefit. Raistlin made sure that he was first and foremost in Caramon's life. And when Caramon disobeyed - when he would go off on his own in pursuit of the things Raistlin didn't have - the Archmage made sure to put his brother back in his place.

Thus poisoning their relationship further.

But he also knew that Caramon saw the evil taking root inside his fragile other half. Their bond had been too strong for them to not see into the other's soul, to know what was festering and growing within the other. They both felt the divide widen as the months and years went on. Perhaps that is why they treated each other the way they did...

Thus did the cycle continue.

And like that endless, destructive cycle, did Raistlin's thoughts spin round within him.

Forefront of his thoughts was the day of his Test, the day he murdered Caramon's phantom image in a fit of anger and rage, proving to the both of them just how disposable they were to one another. After that day, they no longer were the bothers everyone expected them to be.

There were too many differences, but also, Raistlin slowly began to realize, there were far too many similarities.

Raistlin knew that he may be ambitious and single-minded in his need for power, but Caramon Majere was selfish in his need to be 'the good twin' even if his actions, when examined closer, spoke otherwise. The Archmage truly wondered then, how others would react if they actually saw what he did within the kind, well-liked and warmhearted twin...

Caramon never questioned orders, he never thought through the bounties they had been presented with while the two of them were mercenaries. He was out for gold and fame and glory. He loved nothing more than to bash heads, wet his sword (both metal and flesh), drink himself silly with ale, and repeat the process at every opportunity.

If it hadn't been for Raistlin picking and choosing which jobs they'd take, they would have been no better than common thugs in the eyes of ordinary people. But for some reason, these actions, this behavior, was more accepted by their peers than Raistlin's want for more knowledge, for his hunger to grow in arcane power.

Everyone accepted Caramon's choices and his path, for his was the life of a common fighter. Caramon was a soldier and they were abundant in everyday life. But when it came to the life and choices of a mage, they both feared and mistrusted Raistlin. Even though all he truly wanted was to better himself through knowledge and magic. He had worn the red robes of neutrality after his Test; symbol to the world that he walked down the middle path, that he was beholden to none but his own inner compass in keeping the balance and making his choices.

But to the eyes of those around him, red was merely one step removed from black. To them, he was already in the shadows. It was only when he met Yurielle did Raistlin finally feel like someone understood him. She, a woman with the purest heart and accepting demeanor, who proudly wore black despite the pain and discomfort it caused her, was the first person in his life to ever ask him the story of when he began to love magic.

Caramon had never taken interest in Raistlin's magic and, most importantly, he had never taken his magic _seriously_.

Again, Raistlin sighed. He was irritated by these thoughts, by these memories and these musings. It was pointless to try to decipher his twin and his motives – both in the past and in the present - because it didn't change the fact that they were still connected by blood.

Because of their connection (one that distance could never sever) Raistlin knew very well that there were shadows of darkness within his twin. He also knew that despite this, Caramon was a far, far better man than he.

Raistlin supposed that he had to admit that the dolt indeed was 'the good twin'. Raistlin had taken the black robes just as the Companions had always feared he would. He walked a dark path because he knew he had to; not only to grow in power, but also to defeat the evil threatening the world.

But no one else saw it that way... and the selfish deeds and actions of his twin were ignored.

Raistlin also had to admit that in some areas of life, Caramon _was_ better at certain things than he. For one, despite how he doted on others and of how Raistlin used and treated him, Caramon didn't hold onto his bitterness.

Raistlin knew that only he did this.

Caramon forgave and forgot while he seethed for years with pettiness over things he knew were ridiculous to let fester. But, the Archmage also knew, now that Yurielle had shed her light on these tendencies, these were flaws that he needed to work on inside himself.

Raistlin Majere saw so many things he needed to work on...

He could never be like Caramon (nor did he want to be!) this was obvious to him. But, perhaps, it was time to move on and be the one to start the healing.

Raistlin frowned deeply at the thought, every ingrained reaction to his brother that he had grown accustomed to snapped back into place.

The Archmage still found that he didn't, _couldn't_ , bring himself to care enough to take that first step. Instead, if his guess about what Yurielle had in mind when she asked him to follow her, then she was going to force him to do it - and it was _irritating_!

However, Raistlin admitted that he saw and understood what Yurielle had accused him of: He had abandoned his twin, thrown him aside when he no longer needed him.

Raistlin had known all along that Caramon would not fare well with such abandonment.

Was that why he kept the letters, out of some deeply ingrained concern about his twin? After all, if the letters kept coming, then Raistlin knew that his twin was - at the very least - alive...

Yurielle feared he'd do the same with her. That he'd use her and eventually toss her aside like he had Caramon.

Would he?

No.

Absolutely not!

Even when they first met, Raistlin knew deep in his being that he'd never use Yurielle, never hurt her in ways that he would easily do to others. It was a simple fact that he was capable of using others, even those he professed to care about, like Caramon. Even love was not subject to his ambitions. The proof of this was on that other timeline he saw in Yurielle's vision from Takhisis, for he had used his tainted love for the cleric of Paladine to further his evil ends.

He played that hazy vision through his mind again as he often did when trying to figure out if he had actually become a better man. His feelings for the dark-haired Crysania in that reality were not the same as he felt for Yurielle. It had been love, yes, but it paled in comparison to what he shared with his Star. _That_ love was one born of ambition and manipulation and twisted desire, of the same ugly tendencies that Raistlin was just now coming to terms with. There, his want to be with another person physically had warped into a lust that only served to fuel the all-consuming inferno within.

He had twisted something that could have been a lovely, soul-saving thing and, instead, he turned that love into misery - destroying _everything_ with it.

On this timeline, his love with Yurielle was soul-deep, a tether that led him down better paths and she was his light in times like this when he found himself in deep self-reflection. Yurielle was his guide, his solace, and his healing balm. She let him be as he was without forcing him or expecting him to be anything else. She loved his darkness and the emotional scars he bore. It was a stark contrast to his relationship with the cleric in that other reality.

Yes, Raistlin realized then just how differently he was able to love in this timeline versus the one where he had merged with Fistandantilus. Here his heart was his own.

But it didn't make him feel like he knew what he was doing with it!

Perhaps all these questions, all this confusion and uncertainty within him now, was a sign that he _was_ finally on the right path, that he was _actually_ changing.

But what to do with Caramon?

This conundrum was something that Raistlin Majere had no idea where to even start! For again, even considering letting that lummox back into his life filled Raistlin with a near panic-like feeling.

Despite its obvious perks, having a heart was such trouble.

However, Raistlin had also slowly come to realize that the heart Yurielle gave back to him was more human than what that other version of himself possessed. He could do these things – learn to be a better man for Yurielle. Yes, even perhaps reconnect with his brother. If his will to try was strong enough that is.

That lich-tainted version of himself had never gone through this self-examination, had never realized or even cared how dark and poisonous his inner issues were. Raistlindantilus' will was _not_ strong enough, and that being had let himself be consumed by his darkness and emptiness brought on by ignoring the things he could have changed if he had just _tried_.

But _that_ Raistlin - combined with Fistandantilus - had _not_ tried.

It suddenly dawned on the Archmage just how much having a heart changed everything,for he was indeed ready and willing to try.

The Archmage felt like he had a mountain to climb if he was to conquer all the emotional baggage he had inside. And he may yet chase Yurielle away with who he was or what he was capable of, but Raistlin Majere would never abandon her nor cut her from his life to further his ambitions.

He'd let her go willingly before he'd do that.

The thought hurt, especially now, so close to having it almost happen, but he'd do it if it was a mutual understanding or if they had drifted too far apart and were following different paths.

Or if it would be to save Yurielle.

Instinctively his arms wrapped around her, holding her body to his. Flesh to flesh; they were both vulnerable in the darkening room as the day waned to evening. Anxiety spiked for a heartbeat inside Raistlin, for he knew very well that the road ahead would be fraught with danger.

And he still couldn't get that first dream of Yurielle out of his mind... Months had passed, and he still saw her broken body entangled with Takhisis', her heart held in his hand.

Yes, he'd let her go before that happened!

Raistlin told himself it was only a dream, one born from a mind during the time before this woman had begun to reawaken his humanity. He had feared Yurielle then, just as he feared the Goddess he had betrayed. Things were different now. _He_ was different now.

Then why was the dream so vivid that he could hear and feel her heart beating in his outstretched palms...

_**I'm sorry.** _

Raistlin's body gave a slight jerk, pulling him from the edge of sleep. He rubbed his eyes wearily, banishing the faint echo of that dream.

Today had been an exhausting day. Mentally, emotionally, and physically, he wanted nothing more than to stay beneath the covers on this floor and hold his beloved. He wanted to speak with her, to tell her of all these thoughts and fears.

But he didn't want to talk about Caramon, and he knew that once they began their conversation, Yurielle would.

It was inevitable.

Right now though, Raistlin didn't have the strength for that. So he let her sleep and he let his mind try to sort through the tangle of conflicting emotions when it came to his twin.

He knew that he had faced bigger obstacles than what was to come. He had proven he could be the best in every aspect of his life. He had conquered a shattered body, had endured a curse that would drive lesser men mad, and rose to power when everyone had told his parents to let their sickly infant die.

He had shown them all.

Now, Raistlin had to show himself.

Deep inside Raistlin knew that he could do this; that he could heal and grow to be better and more worthy of Yurielle. The strength was there, the will and the desire for _her,_ it was there and growing by the day.

But what of Caramon?

Raistlin had never allowed a healthy relationship to grow between himself and his twin. He left without first knowing the wounds the two of them had inflicted on one another were healed. He turned away from Caramon, severed the link with thinking (falsely) that they'd both find their own paths without any foresight to the damage that was left to fester.

Raistlin then examined something else as he pondered his flaws along with the memories of his twin: During all those years, did Caramon fill a hole in himself with... Raistlin?

Raistlin had an uncomfortable thought then: Was _that_ the reason his twin was the way he was? Was that why Caramon went out of his way to please others, to be the best soldier, the strongest, the most handsome, was it all to fill some void that Caramon possessed?

The Archmage's brow furrowed again at the thought.

Goldmoon and Riverwind had brought up that the warrior had developed a drinking problem after Raistlin had left and the Archmage keenly knew his brother's love of strong drink.

Yes, he remembered all too well!

It was no surprise to him then that Caramon would fill the empty place in his life, not with a wife and children as the world would think, but with booze. It was so very like him to numb the pain with a substance!

Another realization hit Raistlin then - as strong and clear as if he had been struck by lightning - it was the same as how he numbed himself with magic!

Raistlin tried to block out the thought, but the more he considered it, the more obvious it was to him: Two twins, so very different and yet both apparently unable to stand by themselves without another form of addiction to latch onto.

Suddenly Raistlin realized that his ingrained anger and annoyance with his twin maybe wasn't what he thought at all. It really wasn't the differences that stood out to him then, but how alike they were.

Raistlin had almost lost himself to true, utter darkness. He had almost walked a path that could destroy the world.

What path was his twin on right now?

What would come about if Caramon fell to his darkness?

Was this the cause of the dread slowly growing inside Raistlin when he thought of Caramon? What was happening to the 'good' twin to create this sense of unease within the one who walked in the light of Nuitari?

Raistlin had to consider then that there indeed was a possibility that his growing disquiet regarding his twin had nothing to do with his own personal problems right now or with the echoes of emotions from their past together.

Perhaps, there really _was_ something wrong with Caramon.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/14/20: I fought with myself in whether we needed yet another chapter with Raistlin. I feel like we visit his brain a lot and maybe readers get sick of it. But in the end, considering that we'll be heading to Caramon for next chapter, that last sentence is a nice transition. See you next time!  
> Collage featuring Rostislav Kolpakov as Caramon and Ruslan Gerasimeko as Raistlin, both from the Russian musical. I also added a collage to chapter 24.  
> As a side note, I started a crossover fic of DL and Stardew Valley. (Don't ask me why I started it, lord knows I'm having hard enough trouble with this one >_<) But if you're interested, check out 'The Magic of Solace Farm'


	27. Entanglement of Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter includes addiction withdrawals, domestic disputes, and situations where children are endangered.  
> Also, the last part of this chapter lines up with the previous chapter where Yurielle confronts Raistlin about the letters.

It had been four days since her husband had been found, and to Tika's dismay, if not to her surprise, Weird Meggin had been correct in her diagnosis that the first of those days would be tough - to say the least.

Caramon Majere had not touched a drop of dwarf spirits in years. Regular ale, wine, and a few other liquors now and then, yes, but not the potent drink the dwarves brew from deadly mushrooms. Few there are who can stomach more than a few sips at a sitting, but Caramon Majere was once known to drink whole mugs worth, one after another, during the worst of his past drinking days.

Years ago, his road to getting sober had been long and dreadful to witness, but with their first child on the way the young couple overcame this trial and the new baby was motivation enough for Caramon to not touch any liquor for several years. But, Tika would learn as the years passed, that her husband's willpower had waned and by the time their third son had been born he had already fallen into the habit of sneaking drinks and hiding flasks. Now, months and years of regular (albeit smaller) doses of alcohol had left him in the same dire straits as he had been the first time he stopped drinking. But this time, on top of the secret and prolonged drinking, he had also consumed a large amount of his worst vice in a very short time.

After Tika had dismissed him from home the other day, and after Obsidian had given him the carved rabbit that reminded him of Raistlin, Caramon found himself down at the Trough with a full mug of dwarf spirits cupped in his hands. That first sip was like fire through his gullet and soon the large man had completely forgotten why he was there in the first place. But it didn't matter. There were so many new ears willing to listen to his stories; so many burly thugs eager to arm wrestle a Hero of the Lance.

And just like that, he was back in the pit that had almost swallowed him years ago.

By the time one of his new friends (Caramon never did remember any of their names) had bought him his third round of the potent drink, he was seeing triple and unable to continue his stories. His arms, not used to repeat rigorous tests of strength, were sore and hung useless at his sides - until he needed one to lift a mug to his lips, that is. The day had worn on and night had fallen before the big man knew it.

The Trough has rooms for those brave (or desperate) enough to try sleeping in the filthy, flea-ridden cots. Dried blood and other questionable stains are usually the least of the worries of what one would find splashed across the floors, walls, and sometimes ceiling of the small rooms. But, as often is the case with patrons at the Trough, Caramon never made it up to one of them to partake in that particular discomfort. Instead, he had passed out on the bench he occupied in one of the drafty corners and this became his little nook for the next couple of days.

Thanks to Caramon's reputation in the town, the barkeep and regular patrons made sure no one stuck a knife into the drunk while he slept it off. Thus Caramon would snore for short periods of time, but inevitably the noise and ruckus at random hours with fights breaking out or deals going wrong would wake him, and then the cycle would begin again.

The next day and the following after were much the same. Drinking, brawling, and gambling - those three days were a muddled blur of spirit induced hallucinations and bad decisions.

Finally, coin-less (either it had been stolen or he spent it all, Caramon couldn't remember) the big man could no longer pay for any more rounds of drink and his new 'friends' had all left him to sob in his corner alone, sick of hearing his stories that were less to do with the war and more to do with his personal agonies. The barkeep, seeing he could no longer profit from the presence of the former hero, had his thugs dump him out on the street. Somehow, Caramon had then managed to stumble his way home thinking he'd find more money but, as fortune would have it, gravity had other things in mind and he had tumbled his way off the walkway into Weird Meggin's herb garden.

During the rare periods when he was lucid in the days since coming home, Caramon had confessed about the Trough and more to Tika as the spirits worked their way out of his system. Between horrible night terrors, the likes of which Tika had never witnessed him go through, or the mumbling and fevered rantings of days gone by (most of which consisted of times spent with Raistlin) Caramon's health balanced on the edge of a knife. He had only been gone a few days, but the prolonged drinking topped with large quantities of spirits in so short of time was almost more than the large man's body could take. Tika feared more than once she'd have to find a cleric to provide divine intervention lest her husband perish from the poisonous liquor and subsequent withdrawals – so sick did those symptoms make him.

Thankfully Weird Meggin was as good as her word and more, staying with the family and helping him get through the worst of the symptoms. The woman's healing skills proved to be enough to coax Caramon through it and by that fourth day, he was far more aware of his surroundings. He could finally see straight and sit up in bed and blessedly, his headache was no longer threatening to break open his skull. Moreover, much to Tika's relief, the hallucinations from the toxins leaving his body had seemingly ended and today the sweats and shakes were better, so much so that Caramon was finally ready to try eating more than bread soaked in broth.

Tika prayed he'd be able to keep it down as she prepared the light meal for him after Meggin left with her assurances that the worst had passed. How she'd ever repay the old crone, Tika had no idea. Guilt hung on her for how she had ignored and been unjustly wary of the old woman all these years, for she knew that not everyone with ties to Raistlin were deserving of suspicion. And besides, Meggin had helped save Caramon's life and for that Tika would be forever grateful.

The little boys had, surprisingly, come to like the old woman as well. Or, more specifically, they liked the strange eyed cat that seemed to always accompany her. This too, Tika was grateful for, for the cat would draw the boys away and keep them occupied up in the loft or outside during the worst of their father's thrashing fits. Other animals would stop by or be brought by Meggin for the boys to meet and dote upon for a few hours a day as well. These included the owl Meggin called Reginald and the old wolf who allowed the boys to pet him and throw sticks for him, keeping them entertained and less focused on how sick their father was.

Tika didn't understand this strange power Meggin had nor how the old woman seemed to convey to the animals to allow the boys freedom to lavish their attention on them, despite the occasional rough treatment, for more than once the cat bounded away, offended when her tail was pulled too hard. At first, Tika was hesitant with the animals until she saw the loyalty and understanding that came from them towards the old woodswoman as well as the intelligent patience they exhibited towards the young boys. Because of this, she allowed the creatures into her home and let the boys waste away the days in their protective, watchful company.

Tika was thankful that Tanin and Sturm did not see or understand what was really going on in their parents' bedroom. Palin obviously didn't understand either and he was the one to become the most enamored with Meggin and her strange animals. The infant delighted in watching the critters and pulling on the old woman's hair if she left her braids down. The cat, in particular, was his favorite, and the feline in turn seemed to become somewhat protective of the boy, often curling up beside him and purring as the babe napped.

Now, however, with Caramon finally coherent enough, the boys sat with him on the bed as Tika brought in a tray of porridge, bread, and milk. She paused for a moment in the doorway to observe her husband with their children. Tanin and Sturm were obviously wary, sensing that something was not quite right and even they could see that their father had been very sick.

Caramon's face was still ashy in color, his eyes sunken, and he had lost a noticeable amount of weight in just a few days' time. Despite how sick he still felt, he was holding Palin on his lap and the babe played happily with a small black trinket in his little hands. From where she stood, Tika couldn't quite see the object's details.

“Really?” Tanin was asking. “You gonna open it?”

“Sure,” Caramon smiled slightly. “But there isn't anything to sit on in there, so you boys will have to bring in my chair for me so I can keep an eye on you.”

Tanin and Sturm both puffed out their chests and grinned, happy to be given something to do to aid their father.

“Open what?” Tika asked, finally moving from her spot to approach the bed.

Caramon went to open his mouth but little Sturm interrupted, “He gonna open the _secret_ room!”

“Secret-?” Tika's eyes widened and darted to meet her husband's gaze.

Caramon shrugged. “It's time...” he said solemnly. Turning his attention to little Palin in his hands, he bounced the boy against his thighs and continued, “Should we finally make mommy her sewing room?” Palin cooed in response. “It's a very special room I made for someone special... but I think it's time we put it to use. Right?” Caramon continued, his eyes taking in his family. The boys whooped with joy at finally being able to see into the mysterious room that had been nailed shut their whole lives.

Tika flushed with pleasure and laid the tray next to Caramon before taking Palin from him. “I don't need a sewing room...” she said softly.

“Then a playroom for the boys? Would you kids like that?” he asked and again the two youngsters cried out in excitement. Palin squealed as well, feeding off his brothers' exuberance.

“You really mean it?” Tika asked, her heart fluttering at such an idea.

“Yeah,” Caramon replied, his eyes, still red-rimmed but clear, met her gaze. “It's not worth keeping it shut anymore. Besides... right now, it's just wasted space.”

“Alright,” she said with a smile. “But don't push yourself when you open it. Those nails have been in there for years and are likely rusted. It might take you a bit to pry them loose and remember, you need to stay off that ankle for at least another week. So don't overdo it if you're going to be going all around the house getting your tools and such.”

“That's what the boys are for,” Caramon said, reaching out and ruffling Tanin's mass of curls, making the boy yell out in annoyance and Sturm laugh at his brother's misfortune. “They're good at fetching what I need. Besides, I think it's time for them to start learning about tools.” Again, this brought on cheers of excitement from the lads.

“I brought you some thicker food if you think you can keep it down,” Tika said to Caramon after everyone calmed down. Once the tray was settled beside him, her attention went to whatever Palin was clutching in his little hands and drooling over. “What have you got there?” She pried the small black object out of his fingers and offered him one of her hair ribbons in return to keep him from fussing. “A rabbit?” Her eyes went to Caramon after she had inspected it.

He saw in her eyes the same recognition to who the trinket eerily resembled.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“Obsidian gave it to me before she left,” he replied solemnly, picking at the bread on his tray.

“Did she now?” Tika asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Flint made it for her as a child,” Caramon explained. “There's no way she could have known...”

Tika held the delicate trinket in her hands. Carved out of fragile obsidian and polished perfectly, the black rabbit was a marvel of craftsmanship, as most things created by the hands of Flint Fireforge were. It never ceased to amaze Tika how such gnarled, thick fingers could carve and shape any material and with it, make the most intricate and fine creations the likes of which drew the attention of elven royalty, aristocrats, and peasants alike. The little citrine eyes stared up at her; all they needed were hourglass pupils...

With that thought Tika hastily put the trinket down onto the nightstand beside her, facing the rabbit away from her husband and children, a slight chill running down her spine at the memory of those horrible eyes.

Tika always hated looking into Raistlin's eyes.

“So is this what set you off...?” she asked after a moment of watching her husband while he gathered up the courage to try some food.

Caramon nodded sadly and took a sip of milk. He didn't try anything else yet so the boys started picking at the bread on the tray, helping themselves. Wiping milk from his scruffy, unshaven upper lip, Caramon met his wife's gaze one more.

“I'm sorry,” he said again for what was probably the thousandth time since being helped home by her and Dezra. “When Obsidian placed it in my palm I just... I just lost it.” He looked away in shame, his face somehow going even paler. “Before I knew it, I was at the Trough...”

Tika sighed and lay her hand on his shoulder. She didn't say anything, for they both understood how serious his decision of returning to that place was and Caramon saw it in his wife's eyes - she was afraid that this was going to be a repeat of five years ago...

“Believe it or not,” he continued, reaching up and squeezing her hand, “I was able to do lots of thinking these past few days.” He brought her palm to his lips and planted one chaste kiss on her skin. “I know I've said it before, Tika, but I'm ready to change, to let go... but I need your help...”

Carefully Tika sat beside her husband and the children gathered close, each of them was subdued as if sensing the gravity of the words their parents spoke but also sensing they were a part of this moment.

Tika squeezed her husband's hand as she took in her family surrounding her.

Her family...

This, right here, was something Tika Waylan Majere wasn't sure she'd ever have of her own. Growing up orphaned and taking care of herself, the strong-headed girl didn't know what a stable family life was until old Otik had taken her in. Now, she was doing her best at building the family and life she had once only dreamed of. This family wasn't perfect, no family was, and the gods only knew how many trials they'd endure through the years. But this family was _hers_ and she'd do anything to keep them all together, anything to protect them.

However, though her heart was hopeful, Tika had heard these same words from Caramon many times these past years and she felt guilty at the fact that she was so hesitant to believe her husband. But, right now as she gazed into his large, hazel-brown eyes, Tika saw that Caramon was indeed sincere in his confession. She saw how the past few days had truly scared him and how he was finally coming to grips with the fact that he had to let go of Raistlin.

Because, if he didn't, he'd die.

Again, Tika squeezed his hand. Perhaps, with as much help as he needed, maybe, _finally_ , Caramon could let his twin go.

“I'm always here to help you, Caramon,” she said, her voice full of patience and love. “Whatever you need, just ask.”

He brought her hand back to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles. They shared a smile, both their eyes shone brightly with unshed tears. “I love you,” he said.

Tika leaned in and kissed her husband, her heart happy and ready to burst. “I love you too.”

With that, Caramon shooed his boys off his half-eaten tray and attempted to put something in his stomach, even if it was only a few small bites.

Tika watched her family with a smile on her freckled face; both glad in heart and thankful to have her husband back.

Yes, this was her family, and she'd do anything for them.

***

Tika opened the door to her home and was greeted with the sound of Caramon's deep voice drifting from down the hall. With a bone-weary sigh, she hung her apron up on the peg by the kitchen and stretched out her sore muscles. The Inn was getting busier again with another wave of traveler's and today was the first day Tika had gone back to work. Caramon's help was dearly missed and Tika tried not to dwell on how busy their workers had been without their help. Every available employee was there from almost to sundown, helping the patrons, cleaning rooms, serving food and drinks, and doing anything that was needed. Even Raf had picked up a new skill - helping with laundry. Though truth be told, he spent most of the time either playing with (or eating) the bubbles floating on the tub's surface.

Tika just wanted to get past these next few weeks. After upcoming festivals' rush, things would inevitably calm down again for a while before summer's constant business carried them to the cooling months of Autumn. The woman also hoped that by the time Spring Dawning rolled around, Caramon's ankle would be mended enough for him to attend and give his usual speech and toasts that the town expected of the two of them, not to mention he'd be able to return to work. At this point, he'd managed to stay off his ankle for another week and by now he was going a bit stir-crazy. Not to mention the fact that he was still dealing with the lingering after-effects of his drinking.

Though the worst was over after the initial few days, Caramon's mood was still prone to sudden swings from one extreme to another. One minute he'd be happily chatting to Tika, then the next he'd grow sullen and withdrawn. Not only this, but his fuse was shorter with the kids these past days as he juggled sobriety and frustration with the confines of being forced to stay at home. On top of this, though his ankle was healing nicely, the pain of it was enhanced as every nerve in his body was extra sensitive while equilibrium returned to normal. Tika had stayed by his side all week, brewing the teas that Meggin brought and making sure that he took the tinctures she made.

Overall, Tika was happy with the progress Caramon was exhibiting. So much so that after five days of watching him improve, she had finally grown confident enough to spend a day at the Inn to help out. However, to ease any lingering anxiety, Meggin had agreed to stop by with her wolf and cat to spend the afternoon with the children so Caramon wouldn't be left alone the whole day with them.

Not that Tika didn't trust her husband, she just didn't want to overwhelm him while he was still stuck at home. Besides these few changes, things seemed as though they were returning to a calm sort of new normal.

Well, except for one detail...

Tika slowly crept down the hall and paused just outside the door to the room that had remained locked for close to five years. During his illness, Caramon had finally accepted that Raistlin was never going to come live with them and had thus pulled the nails out holding the door shut. Now he sat inside with the boys and Tika could hear him telling them stories.

Though she wasn't all that happy about the subject of said stories...

Even with the talkative Tasslehoff occasionally being around the children, Tanin and Sturm never knew that their father had a twin brother. Or, if they were told, they're still too young to really understand what twins are. But they did understand what it was to have a brother and they had latched onto this unknown fact about their dad with awe and enthusiasm. They had a million questions about this uncle they had never met and though Caramon was careful with what he revealed, the more he talked about Raistlin, the more Tika heard his heart open wide with memories.

She just hoped that telling their children about Raistlin Majere wouldn't set Caramon off again. Tika was thankful for Caramon's immobility now more than ever, for there was nowhere for him to go without risking further injury to his ankle. Though she knew in her heart that if the big man really meant to leave and find some form of drink or distraction, he would have. The fact that he seemed content to stay in one place was a good sign to her.

“Will we ever meet him?” Tanin suddenly asked just as Tika was about to enter the room and reveal herself. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for Caramon's answer.

“No, I don't think so, son,” Caramon replied after several moments. “He's a busy wizard. They do lots of different things, even more than Uncle Tanis.”

“He can't leave his tower?” Sturm asked. “Is it magic?”

“Yeah,” Caramon said softly, his voice rough. “His tower is magic.”

Magic to the boys was as mysterious and secret as how the sun and moons stayed in the sky. Soon they forgot about their uncle, their questions now on magic and if they'd ever see someone use it.

Again this was a sensitive subject, for both parents knew that their youngest would most likely grow to be gifted in that strange Art. There was also the fact that in places like Solace, magic as a whole was still mistrusted and shunned, even after the 'return' of the gods since the War.

“Now, now,” she said, finally revealing herself and entering the small room, “Enough wild stories. You two will never calm down and sleep if we spend all night talking about magic. It's time to get cleaned up and in bed.”

At her order, both boys let out loud moans of dismay. Tika crossed her arms over her chest and gave them one of her most stern, motherly looks. “You heard me,” she said. “Go on and wash your faces. If you're clean, changed, and in bed by the time I come upstairs to tuck you in, I'll make tarts for breakfast.” This, as usual, was enough to convince them and both boys darted from the room to clamor up the steps.

“You won't be able to bribe them forever,” Caramon commented with a smirk as he adjusted Palin in his arms. The infant had been half asleep and was now startled awake at his brother's wild cries. The babe stared around the room, his blue-green eyes wide until they settled on his mother. With a sleepy, happy noise, he reached out towards her.

“I know,” Tika sighed and took Palin from Caramon. “How did today go?” she asked.

“I'm so gods-damned bored!” Caramon groaned and moved to grab his crutches. Slowly he raised himself up out of the rocker that the older boys had pulled into the room soon after opening it. “All they want to do is sit in here and play...”

Tika's gaze roamed the little room. It was still mostly empty save for a small bed that lay underneath the single, west-facing window. She made a mental note to wash the old blankets as soon as possible. They were probably in terrible condition, not having been used since they were put here. Or, better yet, remove the bed altogether, if only to give the children more room to play. Perhaps this room would be suitable to move Palin into within a few months, Tika mused. He was getting old enough and was sleeping through the night now so he didn't need to be in the same room as them anymore. It would be nice to regain their marital privacy again.

But then again... did she really want her youngest and most magically inclined child to live within this room?

Tika felt herself shiver slightly as her eyes took in the rest of the room, she had only been in here once or twice when Caramon had been building it. She didn't like it then and certainly didn't like it now, for it was as if the room's intended owner somehow touched it without ever stepping foot within.

Besides the recent addition of the rocking chair, the little room was exactly as she recalled. Two of the walls had shelves built into them and next to Tika, a small desk and chair sat opposite the bed. In the farthest corner past Caramon sat a cast iron stove for heat - the room being too small for its own fireplace. The window looked out through the branches and on a clear day, one could glimpse Crystalmir Lake glittering between the dancing leaves. The branches of the vallenwood the house sat in arched in such a way around the window that it would be easy to add flower pots within reach if so desired. It was an ideal dwelling for one who collected books and trinkets, of one who would grow herbs and spend hours reading by light of the window or glow of small fire.

Again the room would appear cozy to anyone who had no knowledge of the man it had been designed for. Tika only hoped that time and her own touches would erase that bit of knowledge from her mind as her and her family made the space their own.

But even now the few wooden toys that lay scattered on the floor did nothing to chase away the lingering sense of unease whenever she came in here. It was as if the room still held its breath, waiting for its rightful owner.

“What did you do all day?” she asked, pulling her thoughts away from the room and back to her husband as he hobbled over to the door on his crutches, his foot hanging beneath him was still wrapped in a splint. Despite the fact that it was healing well and he could now start to put some pressure on it, Caramon still didn't use it much. Tika was surprised by how compliant he had been at staying off of it while it healed and the fact that he still babied it was a subtle sign to her that he was in no hurry to leave, despite all his complaining.

“Same as yesterday, but _worse_ without you here,” Caramon grumbled as he made his way past the threshold into the hallway to go to the kitchen. “The boys argued, Meggin came over to check on us around noon and that cat of hers stared at me from the window. I swear that cat gives me the creeps! Then Palin threw a fit that turned into a full-blown tantrum when they left. Mercifully, we all took a nice long nap that lasted until we had some supper,” he finished with a groan as he lowered himself down at the table. “I did nothing but watch the boys and talk to them, but I'm exhausted.”

Tika shook her head at him and tried to hide her knowing smile. She could tease Caramon about the fact that this was how every day was, but she refrained, for she knew he was doing his best while home alone with two toddlers and an infant with only an elderly neighbor to check on him. He'd get used to it soon enough and hopefully it wouldn't last much longer as his ankle grew stronger.

“I'm going to tuck Palin in, then I'll be back to get you something more to eat before I check on the boys,” Tika said as she disappeared into their bedroom, at the last second avoiding the creaky board at the end of the hall.

Minutes later, after making sure the boys upstairs were at least in their nightshirts and within the walls of their room (a better accomplishment on their part than some nights), Tika returned downstairs to find Caramon half asleep at the table, his head propped up on his hand, his eyelids heavy and posture drooping as he pushed around the remnants of the snack on his plate without much interest.

Tika took this quiet moment to study her husband's face in the dim light of their home. Caramon indeed looked tired. Dark circles ringed under his eyes and his face had yet to fully regain all its color since the quick detox of liquor had made him so ill. His features looked thinner now as well, no longer puffy from his drinking. Despite his wane appearance, his long brown hair was brushed and half tied back, the long ends spilling over his shoulders while day-old stubble frosted his strong jaw.

He was still a very handsome man, Tika decided as she secretly observed him. Though they had been married for over five years and had both gone through changes, her husband yet managed to pose a striking figure. He was still more muscular than the average man, though his weight now had shifted more to encompass his middle than his shoulders and arms. Now that he had been sober a week, his eyes were again the clear hazel-brown she had always known. Though, as she considered them, they seemed distant now, his gaze looking within and Tika had wondered more than once what sort of things he was thinking about. Caramon was not known to be a smart individual, at least, not to those who didn't know him. Those that took the time would learn, to their utmost surprise, that he was actually very thoughtful. He considered things long and hard and from angles most wouldn't even see.

Tika saw it etched on his face, the days and nights of hallucinations and nightmares had left a mark on his mind. Caramon seemed haunted. She prayed that, now that he was sober, he'd open up to her and share his thoughts; let her guide him through the sea of emotions he had never been good at wading through by himself.

Caramon Majere was a good man and Tika loved him dearly. She wished desperately that this time, finally, he'd be the man she knew he could be.

Years of mercenary work and adventuring had honed the big man's senses and as if feeling he was being watched, Caramon's eyes wearily glanced in her direction. “Hey, beautiful,” he greeted with a sleepy smile upon seeing her standing at the bottom of the steps to the loft. “You hang around this place often?”

Tika returned his smile and came to his side. “A little late for pick-up lines, don't you think?” She kissed him on top of the head. “I recall marrying you years ago.”

Caramon's chuckle was raspy as he caught her hand in his. He didn't say anything and his eyes, warmed now by the candle burning on the table, drank her in with a gaze that bordered on reverent. “I love you, Tika,” he whispered. “You don't know how much you mean to me...”

Tika silently ran her hand along his jaw. Then, tilting his head up, she kissed his lips, ignoring how his stubble scratched her. “I love you too,” she whispered when they broke apart. Sitting down in the chair next to him, she took in his haunted face and couldn't help but ask, “Do you want to talk about it? The dreams I mean...” she clarified.

Caramon, still holding onto her hand, squeezed it gently. “I just need time.”

Tika offered him one more kiss before standing and taking the mostly empty plate from in front of him. “You're tired,” she commented as she placed the dirty dishes from the day into the wash bin to be cleaned in the morning. “Let's get you to bed.”

Caramon nodded and together the couple turned in for the night.

 _'Yes,'_ Tika thought as she helped her husband to bed, _'life is getting finally back to normal.'_

_***_

Three days later, everything fell apart...

***

Tika had just finished nursing Palin. She was sitting on the edge of the bed and closing her blouse when the screams started. First was Caramon's loud bellow: “What did you do?!” followed by shrill, high-pitched screeching. Tika instantly recognized it as Sturm's voice and in the heartbeat it took her to dash to the door, the lad's older brother had joined in the cacophony.

There was a loud crash and more screaming from the lads just as Tika reached the door. Flinging it open with her free hand, the baby still held tightly to herself with the other, Tika was greeted with the blur of the two youngsters who, upon seeing her, instantly made their way to her.

Caramon was in the living room, one of the chairs had been flung out of the way in his apparent haste to get to the middle of the area and Tika could see that, in one of his hands he held a piece of black obsidian while on the floor, lay more chunks of the broken rabbit.

“What's going on here?!” she cried, reaching the kitchen just as Sturm and Tanin, both in tears, their faces white with fear, made it to her side to hide in the folds of her skirt. Above the din of crying and sobs was the string of angry curses bursting from their father.

“The brats broke the rabbit, that's what!” Caramon roared angrily, turning to face her.

Tika took a step back in response to the wild look that had twisted her husband's features into someone she barely recognized. His eyes were glazed over, his face spotted with angry blotches of red, his hair a wild frenzy – he looked to be someone in the grip of madness.

Caramon still hadn't slept well these past few nights, Tika knew. He tossed and turned and often would wake from a nightmare he just couldn't quite remember. Tika wasn't sure if it was the lack of sleep, the continual withdrawals from alcohol or the vicious combination of the two that had made her husband snap at his children over so small a thing. All she was certain of was right now, with the much bigger man in this state, her children were frightened of him.

Who was she kidding? _She_ was frightened of him! Tika knew they were all in danger if she couldn't calm her berserked husband.

“Caramon, stop!” she demanded when he involuntarily took a step towards them, his eyes still wild. “Calm down. Breathe-”

“No!” he growled angrily. Holding up the broken half of the trinket in his hand, he shook it at the boys. “I'm _sick_ of their carelessness! Sick of them playing with anything they see fit and ALWAYS breaking them!”

“Caramon, _you_ let them play with it!” Tika reminded him without thinking. She clamped her mouth shut, knowing that accusing him of anything right now would only make it worse.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “So this is my fault then, is it?” He clenched the broken piece in his hand so hard that his knuckles turned white. “It's my fault that they aren't careful with anything? What, am I a bad father then? Is it _my_ fault Raistlin's broken?”

Tika's face paled, her heart lurched in her chest. “That's not Raistlin,” she said carefully, backing away slightly. The boys whimpered into the fabric of her skirt and instinctively followed her movement. “That's just a toy... just a piece of glass,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice calm.

“It's NOT!” he growled in response. “It meant a lot to me and they ruined it!”

“These are your _children_ , Caramon! I'm sure that what happened was an accident! Please,” Tika added in the same soft tone that she had used previously to coax him out of his withdrawal ravings while she herded the children back into the other end of the house. Her mind was racing to find any way to get out of there, to get away from this situation safely, but Caramon blocked the only exit. Her only option was to make it to one of the rooms behind her and barricade the door...

The four of them only made it one more step before Caramon took another menacing one as if to follow them. His eyes were wild and clearly somewhere other than here with his family. The fingers of his free hand were curling and uncurling into a fist. He looked as if he was going to pounce at them.

Acting with years of ingrained fighting instinct, Tika reached up above the counter next to them and grabbed the first thing her fingers touched. “Come no closer, Caramon Majere!” she warned, brandishing her iron skillet between her husband and children before he could move closer. “You are not in your right mind now! If you take one more step so help me...” Her voice cracked at the end with the thought of what she might be forced to do.

Caramon eyed the skillet and Tika watched as memories flashed through his eyes. Everyone joked that she was more accurate with her skillet than with a sword. What was sad was they were right, for many draconian and enemy had been felled by her in such a manner and it was clear that Caramon was thinking the same thing, for he finally hesitated.

Seconds wore on in agonizing slowness as the only sound in the house was the terrified snuffles of children. Very slowly, recognition seemed to dawn on the big man's face and Tika watched as all color drained from it.

“Tika?” Caramon asked hesitantly, his eyes widening between slow, dazed blinks.

“Caramon?” she replied, still holding the skillet between them.

Slowly, Caramon's gaze went to object in his hand as if finally feeling that its sharp edges had cut into his palm. He opened his fingers to see the broken half of rabbit now covered with blood. Then his eyes went to the mess of broken chair and obsidian pieces on the floor behind him.

“What...?” The big man fell to his knees, his face a strange mixture of horror and lingering anger. “Tika...” he said slowly, putting his hands over his face. “I'm so angry... why...?”

Without waiting for him to say more, Tika ushered her offspring back down the hall. Handing Palin to Tanin, she put the boys in the master bedroom and shut the door, speaking soft, reassuring words as she did. She took a moment to make sure that she heard the sound of wood on wood as the older two began pushing the dresser in front of the door, sealing themselves inside. Her heart wrenched as Palin started crying and Tika saw in her mind's eye her little boys huddled together in fear of their own father.

Yes, this was _her_ family, and she'd do anything for them!

With the skillet still in hand, Tika slowly turned and made her way back into the living area where Caramon remained kneeling by the kitchen table. He still held the broken half of rabbit tightly in his one fist, ignoring the fact that blood was welling through his fingers as the sharp edges continued to cut into his hand. His shoulders were heaving in silent, panicked sobs, his other hand clutching at his hair as if to pull it out from the roots as he slowly rocked back and forth.

It was the saddest, most pathetic she had ever seen her husband, and Tika's heart almost shattered like the tiny object that he so desperately wanted to be his twin.

“Caramon?” Tika whispered, stopping just out of reach of him. “What's wrong?” she asked brokenly, unsettled to see him like this but still wary that his mood could shift again. “Please, talk to me...”

“I...” he forced out between his trembling lips but had no more words for the inferno of rage and anger that rolled inside of him. Powerful and dark, the surge of emotions had slammed into him, robbing him of sense and reason.

And somehow, though he couldn't be sure if it was imagined because he held the rabbit in his hand, Caramon sensed Raistlin within the anger.

“I have to go! I can't stay here!” Caramon blurted suddenly, completely thrown off guard by the echoing sense of his twin radiating within the waves of emotion.

Quicker than Tika thought he could move on his still-healing ankle, Caramon was suddenly on his feet and heading to the door. “Caramon, wait!” she called after him.

He didn't halt, didn't seem to hear her as he thundered out of the house and ran blindly down the walkway. His ankle throbbed with every step but the pain Caramon Majere felt was dwarfed by the out of control feelings of anger and betrayal that raged through him.

He didn't understand these emotions, were terrified by them in fact, and so he ran without considering where to go or what to do next. He just had to get away from his family, had to protect them from these horrible thoughts that had no place around the innocent.

As he ran, Caramon Majere tried to lock these feelings back into the dark corner they had unexpectedly burst out of. They were dark and violent, a terrifying amalgamation of years of suppressed anger honed by a warrior's instinct to use them against others in a blind battle rage. What was worse, was that Caramon Majere understood that these violent emotions, as foreign and sudden as they felt in this moment, belonged to no one else but himself. He knew it in his soul. But something had enhanced his anger and rage, these wild emotions, something had sparked them into a violent inferno that he had not been able to control.

And as he ran, he knew with every step, that his twin was feeling the same way in this exact same moment as he.

HOW?!

All Caramon's frustrations, all his woes from the past few months – coupled with the continual sense of abandonment and loss left behind by Raistlin's leaving - had exploded out of him when that tiny rabbit had fallen from his son's fingers to break upon the floor.

It wasn't the lad's fault, Caramon well knew.

But seeing that black rabbit laying on the floor, its little golden eyes staring up at him, had snapped something within him.

He had almost...!

Pausing at the bottom of the walkway, Caramon attempted to catch his breath. The shared sense of anger was completely gone now. In its wake, was a feeling of regret and sadness so deep that it threatened to pull him back under. There was a coldness now, a sense of loss and loneliness that tore at his heart, making it almost impossible to breathe.

It was then that the big man realized he was still holding onto the broken half of the trinket. He turned it in his hand, the little citrine eyes gleamed up at him through the sticky pool of blood that had collected in his palm and along his fingers. For a brief second, those eyes caught the clear blue sky above him and shone bright, startling blue.

Inhaling deeply, Caramon released a cry of anguish that echoed through the late afternoon, startling a small flock of birds that had settled in a nearby bush for the night. Then, without looking where he was going, the big man began to run, crashing through the underbrush surrounding the road as he disappeared into the trees.

***

Unseen by Caramon Majere, Weird Meggin stood under the eve of her small home and watched as the former Hero of the Lance disappeared down the street to soon be swallowed by the darkening shadows of evening. A few moments later, the old woman's gaze flicked to the shadowy part of her garden where mismatched eyes, one blue and one green, shone at her from the dark.

“Follow him,” she said. “If you can, get him to go to the Inn. Use whatever methods you deem fit. Just don't hurt him,” she shook a gnarled finger in warning at the diminutive, hunched figure, “Tika would not be happy if you do and you'll make the boys cry. I suspect there's tears enough right now.”

The eyes blinked once before they too vanished.

Meggin, with a deep sigh, looked up into the branches high above where she knew the rest of the Majere family were. “What a mess...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2/10/21: Hello dear readers!  
> I always feel like I'm apologizing when I post chapters and again I feel that I must and give an explanation for why posts are so slow and probably will remain so for a while yet.  
> The past few weeks haven't been great on my health again as my neck injury decided to flare up once more. I've been dealing with severe episodes of dizziness, vertigo and ongoing lightheadedness again. Turns out that when I fell and hit my head this fall (yes when I ran away from those damned yellow jacket hornets! grr!) my atlas under my skull became misaligned and for whatever reason it just doesn't want to heal properly and stay in place. (also, due to my poor posture and years of computer sitting, my neck has no curve in it and this just adds to the issue (I'm doing physical therapy to try to bring the natural curve back but it's slow going.))  
> And to make matters worse, I also just started working again right when this flared up. So I feel like it's delaying my healing quite a bit since my job has me looking down a lot and being on my feet all day, not to mention sitting and being on the computer aggravates things. So unfortunately, between my job and my neck, I haven't had the time or energy to focus on the story. 
> 
> It's just real shit timing all around and I'm really sorry :(
> 
> On a better note, it's my birthday today! So I wanted to really try to get this chapter out as a present to all of you for sticking with me. Sorry it's kind of a bummer of a chapter, but it was Caramon's turn to finally have his moment. I hope it wasn't too terribly hard to read and hopefully it's not too janky and full of errors. I've been plugging away and editing it all through these weeks with my neck so it might not be as polished as most chapters are.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you are all staying healthy and keeping safe. Take care of yourselves and I'll post again when I can ♥
> 
> P.S., when I say entanglement in the chapter title I'm referring to the theory of quantum entanglement. It's a fascinating theory where basically two like particles are affected and respond to stimuli the same way no matter the distance between the two. Sorry, my science nerd is showing xD


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